


After Running (I'm Coming Home)

by remy71923



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Dad Steve Rogers, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Fix-It, Gen, Light Angst, Mom Natasha Romanov, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Romance, SHIELD Family, romanogers - Freeform, romanogers fluffathon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-27 22:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 61
Words: 214,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20767667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remy71923/pseuds/remy71923
Summary: Collection of snapshots and drabbles of Steve and Natasha as they build their love and life together while juggling parenthood and the Avenger life. Each chapter is a standalone, but may be considered as continuations from other chapters and previous works.





	1. Just Keep Waiting (I'll Come Home)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 01\. Where Steve is out on a mission, and Natasha and little James are waiting for him to come home.
> 
> "It was important that they let James understand that they will always, always come home, even if it just adds more pressure to them to do well and get out of missions alive, however scathed, but alive back to their little family."

Natasha is sitting on the couch, working on her laptop that is rested on her lap, with a nine-month-old James playing with his wooden blocks on the mat in front of her. She would look up from her laptop frequently, just to watch James and chase after him should he crawl away from the mat, or should he call his mother’s attention to show her something he had built using his blocks, which is usually just a tower of three blocks in many different orientations, but _ whatever _, her heart would still flutter at every achievement her son would proudly show her.

“Mama.” James calls, and Natasha looks away from her laptop and smiles when she sees James stretching out his small arms at her. She unfolds and rolls down the sleeves of her sweater, placing her laptop on the coffee table beside her and grins as she stands and walks over to pick her baby boy up, kissing his cheek and inhaling the scent of milk and vanilla from her son’s red hair that almost mirrors her own. It is still neatly combed and still slightly damp from his bath just before he started playing.

"Tired of playing, малыш?” _ Tired of playing, baby boy _? she asks, and James babbles, resting his head on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around Natasha’s neck. She chuckles softly and walks over back to the couch. She grabs two pillows and piles them up, resting it on the arm of the couch as she rests her back on it, shifting James so he is standing on her lap. James looks at his mother and smiles, his blue eyes sparkling, and Natasha can’t help but grin at how much her son reminds her of Steve.

“Mama, Dada?” James asks. Natasha pulls her son close and peppers his face with kisses, eliciting a laugh from the baby, as warmth spreads over Natasha’s chest at the most beautiful sound she has ever heard.

“Daddy is on a mission, little one,” she replies softly. “But he will be home soon, maybe tonight.”

James tilts his head, and Natasha chuckles. “Dada will come home, sweetie, don’t worry.” she says, smiling, and James bounces, clapping his hands, a sign that he understood that he will see his Dada anytime soon.

_Come home _, it’s one of the phrases James understands, as it is being said repeatedly at him by both his mother and father whenever Steve would be out for a mission with T’challa and Bucky. It’s funny and ironic, how, even while on the run from the rest of the world, both of them would still be out doing rogue missions. But ever since James was born, Natasha had stopped participating in missions, and T’challa would call Steve in only for big missions that would require more manpower than his team can offer. Natasha is called only when absolutely necessary, and even then, it was in the condition that at least one of them should stay home with their son.

While the two of them hoped to never once again go back on the battlefield, they knew it would be impossible. The Avengers may have disbanded, but that didn’t mean their urge to fight and answer the call to missions would disappear as well. Besides, the least thing they can do as thanks to T’challa for letting them stay since they got married and had James was to aid him in missions. Which is why it was important that they let James understand that they will always, _ always _ come home, even if it just adds more pressure to them to do well and get out of missions alive, however scathed, but alive back to their little family.

“Nemo.” James says, grinning widely at his mother. Natasha laughs, Finding Nemo has been one of James’ all-time favorite movies. They have watched it thousands of times, but somehow, it always seems to be James’ default suggestion every time he would want to cuddle with his Mama or Dada.

“Again, little one?” Natasha asks, a grin on her face, and James nods enthusiastically. “But it’s almost bedtime.”

“Nemo.” James says, softly this time, as his eyes widen and he sticks out his lower lip, a technique he uses if he wants something from his parents, which aren’t much—only more cuddling time way past his bedtime. Natasha would always tease Steve for always giving in to that look, but he would point out that she’s not that different. And who was she kidding? Who could resist such a cute face from a baby boy who is just asking to be cuddled by his parents before being transferred to his own crib?

“Okay, okay, but you have to promise Mommy that you will sleep after, alright?” she asks, and James coos in response, a big grin on his face. She chuckles and shifts in the couch so they are facing the huge television screen T’challa has provided them so kindly in their private unit. She sits James down on her lap so he is facing the screen as well.

Natasha picks up the remote, and navigates to the movies Shuri had downloaded for them (for James, mostly), and as soon as James saw the orange clownfish and the blue tang, he squeals in delight. Natasha laughs, pressing play on the remote and kissing the top of his head softly, her arms clutching around James’ body, as he leans back and rests his head on his mother’s chest.

And so they watch, well, mostly James watches the movie, and Natasha would just watch her son get all excited about the movie. She knows how the movie goes (she’s watched it thousands of times that she felt like she can basically recite the entire movie), and she is sure her baby also knows how the movie goes, but his reactions to different scenes still manage to surprise her and still make James the most adorable baby in the universe.

But knowing how the movie goes also didn’t mean that some scenes still get her, and hit close to home. Marlin losing his family would always remind her of how she was taken away from her own family in Russia, how the Avengers had disbanded over the Accords, or how she had almost lost Steve numerous times since they had been partners. Nemo being taken away by a scuba diver would always heighten her overprotectiveness over James. Marlin finally reuniting with Nemo would always hit her hard, because that’s how she would want to reunite with Steve every time he would be out on missions, and would be gone for hours to even days, which are, thankfully, practically nonexistent since they had James, to which Natasha is grateful to the king for.

But some scenes still manage to make her smile and laugh, just as it makes James giggle and laugh. She would always laugh at how James would imitate the whale sounds Dory made (and sometimes, like tonight, she would join him—it would always make him laugh louder, no matter how ridiculous she sounds), or how he would also join when the seagulls would make their sound. He would babble here and there, and it would always make Natasha’s heart flutter and her stomach do flips.

She loves her son so very much more than she can ever imagine.

By the reunion scene, Natasha notices James had fallen asleep in her arms, and she smiles. She gently smooths her son’s red hair and presses a soft kiss on his forehead. She reaches for the remote and pauses the movie, making sure that James is really fully asleep before shifting him in her arms. She slowly stands up from the couch, letting James’ head rest on her shoulder as she walks over to his nursery beside her and Steve’s bedroom.

She slowly lowers James down on his cot bed, making sure his head is rested on his pillow. She places the black panther plush Shuri had given James when he was born (mainly as a joke for her brother, but T’challa rather finds it adorable, he admitted to Natasha) beside him and pulls his blanket over him. She lowers herself to give a gentle and soft kiss on James’ forehead, and while the nine-month-old stirs at the kiss, he remains fast asleep, clutching the black panther against his chest.

“Good night, little one,” she whispers. “Mommy loves you, Daddy loves you.” She turns James’ night light on, and grabs the baby monitor before exiting the nursery and closing the door gently behind her.

And just in time, she hears the faint sound (thanks to the almost soundproof windows) of a jet landing in front of the palace. She places the baby monitor inside their bedroom and walks over to their huge window. She smiles when she sees T’challa and Steve, along with two women—Okoye and Nakia—walking down from the jet. T’challa and Steve are talking, both men staring at the tablet in T’challa’s hand, and Okoye and Nakia are not far behind them. They stop in front of the entrance, and Natasha watches as Steve gives T’challa a one-armed hug, and a nod towards the two women before entering the palace.

Natasha smiles, and she walks back from the window to clean up James’ toys, putting them inside his play bin that is just in their living room beside his playmat. She looks up when she sees the door open, and Steve enters, his expression tired, his suit dirty, but when his eyes landed on her, that expression is quickly replaced with a huge smile and sparkling eyes.

“Welcome home, soldier.” Natasha greets, her lips curling to her signature smirk, as she puts the last of James’ wooden blocks inside the toy bin. She stands up, as Steve closes the door behind him, meeting him halfway in the living room when Steve wraps his arms tightly around her.

“Good to be home.” Steve mumbles, burying his face in Natasha’s hair. He takes the time to inhale the scent of her hair, which smelled of her usual lemongrass shower gel. He presses a kiss to her temple, and moves to kiss her forehead, right cheek, nose and then her lips, like how he usually does whenever he gets home from a hard mission. Natasha hums against his lips and kisses him back softly before pulling away, wrapping her arms around his neck, as his arms fall to her waist.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” she asks softly, running a hand through his long brown hair, and resting the same hand on his cheek. He sighs and leans against her touch, shaking his head.

“Just a long day.” he answers, giving her a small smile. Natasha kisses him on the lips once again. “James is asleep?”

Natasha nods. “He just fell asleep. We watched Finding Nemo.” she says, and Steve arches an eyebrow. Natasha chuckles and shakes her head. “No, I did not resist the look, I couldn’t even try.”

Steve chuckles softly and kisses her forehead. “He’s his mother’s son after all.” he says, and Natasha smacks Steve’s arm lightly, making him laugh.

She threads her fingers in his and pulls him towards James’ nursery. They both smile when they stop at his cot bed, and he lets out a little snore as he stirs, snuggling closer to the black panther plush in his arms.

“He missed you.” Natasha whispers, leaning her head on Steve’s chest. His arm automatically snakes around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Would it be so bad if we can take him and he’ll sleep with us tonight?” Steve whispers back, grinning, and Natasha chuckles softly.

“You’ll wake him,” Natasha replies softly. “Spend the day with him tomorrow. I’ll be training with Okoye in the morning, and I promised to drop by at Queen Ramonda’s in the afternoon.” Steve smiles and nods.

He slowly lets go of Natasha as he leans in to give James a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, buddy.” he whispers. The baby is undisturbed in his sleep, and lets out another snore just as Steve pulls away. Natasha smiles down at their son, and they walk out of the nursery quietly, with Steve closing the door gently behind him.

Natasha smiles at Steve as he wraps his arms around her waist again. Natasha runs her hand through his hair, and he leans in to give Natasha a kiss on the lips.

“I miss the blonde,” Natasha murmurs against his lips. Steve chuckles and pulls away, shaking his head. “But I’m not complaining about the beard. The beard can stay.” She grins and Steve runs a hand through her short blonde hair.

“I miss the red,” Steve replies. “But you’re beautiful in any hair color, so whatever.”

“Charmer,” Natasha says, grinning. “Go take a shower, you stink.” she tells him, leaning to kiss him again on the lips.

“But you still couldn’t resist me, huh?” Steve says, after Natasha pulls away to walk to their bedroom.

“You’re my son’s father after all.” Natasha, says, winking over her shoulder. Steve laughs, shaking his head and following Natasha to their bedroom.


	2. Someone Holds Me Safe and Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 02\. Where James couldn't stop crying until Steve came home from a mission.
> 
> "“We’re not supposed to figure out everything, sweetheart,” Steve tells her softly, smoothing her hair lovingly as he gives her a soft smile. “Because if we do, then there’s no more thrill in parenting.” He grins at her, and she lets out a chuckle, sniffling as she shakes her head."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter is up! I'm maximizing my free time for creation of new oneshots and updating works before I let my work take over me again. Hope you all enjoy this one!
> 
> Song is "Once Upon A December" from Anastasia (1997).

Steve had come home that night hearing muffled crying in their bedroom. He’d like to say that it was another normal evening for his small family—he sound of crying from a baby, but this time, as he closes the door gently behind him and put down the shield T’challa had made for him on their wooden floor, he listens closely. That wasn’t James’ muffled baby cries. Rather, that wasn’t the _ only _ crying he’s hearing.

He can also hear the muffled, however faint, crying of Natasha.

Steve quickly walks over to the bedroom and opens the door, and his heart aches when he sees his wife pacing back and forth the room, bouncing a fussy five-month-old in her arms as she tries to hush him with quiet words yet at the same time, trying to level her voice and muffle her own cries. Her blonde (that is slowly turning back to red) curly hair is tousled, the side of her head is glistening with sweat even though it’s relatively cold outside and inside their room, and her face is wet, and as she looks up at him, her green eyes are red-rimmed and glistening with yet unshed tears. The white towel on her shoulder is also damp, probably from James’ own tears.

She stops pacing when she sees him, tears still flowing down her face as her expression contorts into a pained expression washed with relief of seeing her husband. James also stops, albeit momentarily, and looks at the door, and he resumes crying as he reaches for his father.

“Hey, hey,” Steve says gently, walking over to gather their son in his arms. He bounces the baby and smooths his back, shushing him gently, and Natasha turns around, bringing her hands to her face to wipe away the tears. “Why are you crying, little buddy? Come on now.” Steve coos, gently wiping the baby’s tears with his thumb. He brushes away the red hair on the baby’s face and presses a soft kiss on his forehead as he bounces him in his arms. “It’s okay, James, it’s okay.” He looks at his wife questioningly once she turns back around, and he quietly hums a tune as he brings James’ head near his mouth.

“He’s been crying nonstop for two hours,” Natasha tells him softly, her voice breaking as a fresh wave of tears threaten to fill her eyes and fall. “I changed his diapers, fed him, played with him and everything, and he won’t stop.” Natasha sits down at the edge of the bed and watches, both in disbelief and relief (if possible) as the baby starts calming down in Steve’s arms. Steve looks down at the baby and sees him finally sleeping, his head rested on Steve’s shoulder, his left fist tucked under his chin and his right fist gripping Steve’s shirt.

Steve looks back at his wife, his chest tightening as he sees her lower lip quivering as she stands up, rests a hand on James’ back and presses her lips on his hair. Tears start flowing down her face and she closes her eyes, and Steve, with his free hand, pulls her by the waist, so she is burying her face on his other shoulder.

“He hates me,” Natasha murmurs against his chest, her voice hoarse and breaking. “My own son hates me.”

“Nat, no,” Steve replies softly. He pulls away a bit to look at his wife on the face. “No, James doesn’t hate you.”

“He likes you more than me, he calmed down when you picked him up for five minutes and I’ve been trying for two hours, _ two _hours, Steve. If that’s not a sign that he hates me then I don’t know what is.” Natasha rants quietly, burying her face on her husband’s shoulder, her hands clutching his arm. “I knew I wasn’t made to be a mother.”

“Nat, don’t say that, please,” Steve pleads quietly. He sighs as he lets go of Natasha slowly to rest a sleeping James on the crib beside their bed, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. He then walks over back to his wife and pulls her again to an embrace, his arms tightening when he feels her shaking and his shirt getting damp because of the tears from his wife. He kisses the top of her head softly. “You are a wonderful and loving mother, Natasha, please believe me.”

He feels Natasha’s head shake against his chest and she looks up at him. “I’m a bad mother, Steve. I can’t figure out why my own son is crying, and I’m supposed to figure it out.” she says. Steve shakes his head and brings up his hand to brush the tears off her face gently with his thumb. He wipes off the stray hair on her face, and he leans down to press a kiss on her forehead.

“We’re not supposed to figure out everything, sweetheart,” Steve tells her softly, smoothing her hair lovingly as he gives her a soft smile. “Because if we do, then there’s no more thrill in parenting.” He grins at her, and she lets out a chuckle, sniffling as she shakes her head.

“You seem to have it figured out,” Natasha tells him, not meeting his eyes as she plays with the collar of his shirt. “You calmed him down without even trying.”

Steve chuckles and rests his hand back to her waist. “I did try. I hummed him a lullaby tune.” he tells her casually. Natasha’s eyebrows furrow, and she blinks, a confused expression on her face as she looks at her husband. Steve sighs and shakes his head, giving his wife a small smile. “My Ma used to tell me it usually did the trick on me when I would get fussy. She’d sing me to sleep.” Steve tilts his head. “Have you tried that?”

Natasha frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t know any lullaby.” she tells him. She does, but those were lullabies she had used in missions, memories from a broken childhood. She wasn’t about to sing any song from her past to her precious little boy.

“That’s alright, you can just sing to him any song, just as long as he hears your voice,” Steve tells her softly. “Maybe he just wants to listen to his mama sing.”

“Or his dada.” Natasha corrects, and Steve smiles.

“Please believe me when I say that James doesn’t hate you, and he never will,” Steve tells her softly. Natasha sighs and Steve cups her cheek, and she closes her eyes as she leans into his touch. “He loves you, and maybe our little one just wanted a little lullaby before he sleeps. But please don’t ever doubt your capability as a mother, sweetheart. You are loving, amazing and a natural. I know you said that it’s hard for you to become a mother because you never had one, but sweetheart, you are a natural to James.” Steve smiles and the corner of Natasha’s mouth twitches upward. He leans forward and rests his forehead on hers, and her eyes flutter close. “Do you trust me?” 

Natasha nods, and she leans forward to press a soft and gentle kiss on his lips. “I do.” she whispers as she pulls back. Steve smiles and kisses her again, and they embrace, with Natasha’s head buried in the crook of Steve’s neck, and Steve’s lips is resting on the side of her head. “I love you.” Natasha murmurs to him.

“I love you more,” Steve tells her softly, a smile on his mouth. “And I’ve missed you. Missions aren’t fun anymore without my partner.”

Natasha pulls back, her arms still around his neck, and he chuckles when she sees a smirk playing on her lips. “What, is T’challa boring you? Don’t say that aloud or we might get kicked out.” she says, and Steve laughs softly, careful not to wake their son up.

“Shut up.” Steve says, grinning as he leans to kiss his wife again on the lips. Natasha rewards him with an appreciative hum in response as she kisses him back.

* * *

Natasha is woken up by a soft whimper, a whimper that she is well aware will build up into a huge wailing sound if she doesn’t move fast. She sighs and slowly gets up to walk towards the crib. By the soft yellow color of the night light, she sees her son’s blue eyes, glistening with tears as he looks up at his mother. He starts reaching for her and she takes him in his arms.

“Are you hungry, малыш?” she asks softly. She pulls down one sleeve of her nightgown so she can start breastfeeding, but James shakes his head, his whimpers slowly building up to soft cries. She sighs and starts to panic. “What’s wrong, my love? Please.” she pleads quietly, bouncing the baby in her arms.

_You can just sing to him any song, just as long as he hears your voice _. She can practically hear Steve’s voice in her head saying that, that she has to look back to the bed to find her husband still asleep on their bed, his chest rising and falling in a constant pace with his breaths against his grey pajama shirt.

She quickly scans her brain for a song, any song, any melody she can hum to lull her son to sleep. She sits back down on the rocking chair beside their window, positioning her son so James is facing up at her. She wipes the tears gently off his cheeks and he lets out a soft cry as Natasha shushes James softly, tapping the baby’s small nose—_ her _ nose—softly, eliciting a soft whimper from her son.

She starts singing softly, “Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember,” She remembers watching this movie while she was still pregnant with James. She chanced upon this movie when Shuri had dumped to her an entire drive of movies and musicals she can watch. She found the movie amusing, in a sense that she has the same last name as the fictional character, based on the late grand duchess Anastasia Romanov, and that both of them suffered from severe memory loss, grasping upon fragments of memories to remember their past life. “And a song someone sings once upon a December.”

The song stuck to her, and she ended up rewatching the movie several times because of the music, most especially this one. “Someone holds me safe and warm. Horses prance through a silver storm, figures dancing gracefully across my memory.” She smiles when James’ soft cries start dying down, and his blue eyes is just watching his mother peacefully, his eyes blinking and reaching up his mother’s face.

“Far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember,” she continues singing softly, a smile on her face as she leans down so James can touch his mother’s nose. He lets out a soft gurgle and a smile, and Natasha’s heart swells at the beautiful sight that is her son’s smile.

“Things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember, and a song someone sings,” James lets out a small yawn as he brings his hand down. He blinks several times and Natasha smiles when she sees James’ blinks get slower, until he closes his eyes. “Once upon a December.”

She smiles and leans down to press a soft kiss on her son’s forehead. “I love you, little one.” she whispers. She rocks on her chair for a few more moments, just staring at her son in her arms, marveling at how beautiful of a miracle he is, and how lucky she is to be able to have a son like him, and a husband like Steve. She had never thought this would be possible, that she could be a mother, that the body who takes away lives can actually create a beautiful life like her son, and yet here she is.

She eventually stands up and rests James back on his crib. She drapes his Captain America blanket over his small body and smooths his red hair before going back to bed. She feels the bed shift and Steve snake an arm around her waist.

“Steve.” Natasha whispers, a warning tone in her voice. Steve chuckles sleepily, and she turns around facing her husband. Steve presses a soft kiss on her nose, his eyes still closed and a small smile on his mouth.

“I’m not saying anything.” he says sleepily, but his smile is growing wider. Natasha smacks his arm playfully, burying her face on his chest as she pulls the blanket up to their bodies again.

“Good night, Steve.” she says softly, pressing a kiss on his jawline. Steve hums and smooths Natasha’s back.

“You sing beautifully,” Steve says. “Good night, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments, kudos appreciated!


	3. Promises, Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 03\. Pre-Infinity War Battle in Wakanda. Where Natasha thinks of running away, torn between staying with James and fighting for the universe, and Steve wanted to do the same. But neither of them can.
> 
> "Steve was right, there was no other choice nor other way to survive but to fight. There was no other way their son can have a future if they weren’t going to fight. She knew better than to run, but now? Now she’s not sure."

Natasha is pressing her lips on her son’s patch of red hair, her eyes closed as she inhales the scent of milk and vanilla in his hair, and as she relishes the feel of her son in her arms. She didn’t want to leave, she couldn’t leave, but she _ should _ , because this is the whole universe they’re talking about, and this is a _ mad titan _who wants to wipe out half of the universe, so even if she wanted to hide away with James in her arms, she shouldn’t. She should fight for the universe, for the people depending on them, and of course for James’ future.

James lets out a soft whimper, as if sensing his mother’s thoughts. Natasha pulls away and looks at the one-year-old in her arms. James puts his hands on both sides of Natasha’s face, making her smile. She rubs her nose gently against his, eliciting a soft giggle from James. Natasha kisses his forehead.

Maybe it’s not too late to run away.

“Natasha.” Steve calls out softly, and she lifts her eyes to see Steve walking towards them, his eyes determined, but there is a mixture of fear and anxiety, that she knows only _ she _ can see how the determination in his eyes is mixed with something else. Natasha purses her lips and sighs, and Steve sighs, his expression slowly breaking into full-on fear and uncertainty in front of his wife. “Can I hold him?” he asks softly, lifting his hands.

Natasha smiles down at James. “Go to Dada, little one.” she says softly, and James turns, babbling and reaching out his arms to his father.

Steve takes him and he does the same things Natasha did. He presses his lips on the side of James’ head as his eyes close, taking his time to inhale the scent of his baby. Natasha’s chest aches just watching them.

Maybe they _ can _ just run away.

“Steve.” Natasha whispers, walking over to her boys. She rests her forehead on James’, and Steve sighs as he presses his lips on Natasha’s head, as if knowing what’s running through his wife’s head.

“Mama, Dada, go?” James asks in his little voice, looking up at Steve, and it’s enough for Steve’s eyes to start watering.

“I’m afraid so, little man,” Steve says, trying his best to smile, and it hurts Natasha seeing him like this. “But Mommy and I will come back. We’ll be back, okay?”

“‘Kay.” James replies, smiling, oblivious to the tense and fearful atmosphere in the room caused by his parents. _ Oh _, to be a child again, and to believe that everything will turn out fine in the end.

“I love you, James.” Steve says softly, kissing his son’s forehead once more, and pulling the baby closer to his chest.

“Luv you, Dada.” James replies, grinning. He puts both hands on either side of Steve’s face and presses his lips on Steve’s nose, making a loud kissing noise. Steve laughs softly, and kisses James’ nose, before transferring him back to Natasha’s arms.

She tucks James under her chin and looks back up at Steve as he sighs, his expression softening as he brushes Natasha’s hair, tucking it behind her ear. Yes, he _ definitely _ knows what she’s thinking. “Nat, we can’t,” he says softly. “I want to. Believe me, sweetheart, I want to...but we can’t…”

“We _ can _, Steve,” she says stubbornly, her voice breaking slightly at the end. They can’t, Steve was right, there was no other choice nor other way to survive but to fight. There was no other way their son can have a future if they weren’t going to fight. She knew better than to run, but now? Now she’s not sure. “I don’t want to lose…” she trails off, unable to continue. She closes her eyes as she shifts and pulls James tighter in her arms, and the baby rests his head on his mother’s shoulder.

“We will come home, Nat,” Steve tells her softly, but firmly. “We will come home to James alive and whole, I promise.” Natasha opens her eyes and looks back up at Steve, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.

She sighs and nods. Steve gives her a small smile and leans down to kiss her softly on the lips. “He’s in good hands. T’challa has a whole team of guards and sitters for him here. He will be okay.” he tells her softly.

Natasha’s bottom lip quivers, but she nods. If her husband promises that they will come home safe, then she believes him, she trusts him. She knows Steve to be a man who keeps his promises, and so she’ll do her part by doing her best to keep herself and her husband alive whatever it takes. She will do anything so they can come home to their son at all costs. She leans back and shifts James so she can look at her son. James looks back up at her and smiles.

“Mama, luv you.” James says, smiling. Natasha laughs softly and rests her forehead against her son’s. She presses a soft kiss on his nose.

“I love you too, little one,” Natasha replies softly. “Mama and Dada will come home, okay? We will come home.”

“Come home.” James repeats, and Natasha nods at him, smiling at her son, whispering ‘_ that’s right’ _ as she leans to press another kiss on James’ forehead.

One of the guards approach Steve and whispers something, and Steve looks back at Natasha and nods at her. Natasha takes a deep breath and gives James one last kiss on the cheek before handing him over to Ayo, one of the nurses in charge of James.

“Be good, малыш.” Natasha says softly. She nods at Ayo who nods back as she takes James in her arms. James happily transfers to the warrior, having been acquainted with the woman as she is a good friend of his parents’.

“Good luck, Captain Rogers, and Miss Romanoff.” she says. Steve and Natasha smile gratefully, before they turn and leave the room.

As Steve closes the door behind him, Natasha leans back on the wall, closing her eyes and leaning her head back on the wall. Steve walks up to her and runs a hand through her hair, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. Natasha reaches for his hand and threads their fingers together.

“We’ll come home whole, you and me,” Natasha tells him firmly, and Steve nods. “We will come home to our son whatever happens, and whatever it takes, understood?”

Despite everything, Steve had to smile at that, and he nods. “Yes, ma’am.” he replies. Natasha tiptoes to kiss him firmly on the lips before they walk down the hallway of the palace to the laboratory upstairs where Vision and the others are, where the battle is, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, reviews and kudos appreciated! If you'd also want me to write about anything Romanogers-related, hit me up too. I'm always open for new ideas. :)


	4. One Step At A Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 04\. Where Natasha comes home from a mission, just in time when James takes his first few steps.
> 
> "Steve had a mini heart attack where he thought James would take his first few steps when he was standing in front of the goats. But then he fell on his butt as soon as he tried to take a wobbly step forward. He blinked several times, and Steve and Bucky thought he was gonna cry, but he instead extended his arms to reach for Steve, who gladly picked him up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say thank you all so much for your kind and wonderful comments and reviews! Please keep them coming! And I do hope you enjoy this one after a slightly dramatic chapter last time.
> 
> Enjoy! Don't forget to leave kudos and comments!

“Come on, bud, just take a step towards Dada.” Steve smiles as he is sitting cross-legged on James’ playmat in their floor in the palace. He claps his hands and reaches his hands out to the baby.

It’s not that Steve is impatient. He isn’t, especially not with his baby boy, but he’s just excited. James had recently learned how to stand still on his own a few weeks ago, even if he is only on his seventh month. In his monthly baby checkup with the doctors of Wakanda, they had told Steve and Natasha that James’ physical development is a little more advanced than a normal baby’s development because he had inherited Steve’s super soldier serum. The enhancement slightly worried Steve and Natasha both, because, although they’re relieved that James would grow up healthy, they would still want him to live and grow normally just like any other child. Fortunately, the doctors told the parents that it wouldn’t mean that James would age or grow faster than normal kids, it’s just that his body and his muscle skills are more enhanced than a normal child’s, thus enabling him to learn how to crawl, stand and possibly walk, earlier than normal.

James had learned how to stand on his own when Steve and Natasha were playing with him one lazy afternoon on the palace lawn where they decided to have their family picnic. They wanted to expose their son to the outside world, and while they were a little reluctant at first, T’challa assured them that Wakanda is a safe place for the family, and they should live as normally as they can while they are there, including exposing James to nature in general.

Natasha and Steve talked about this once, about getting a normal shot at life for James, and while they hoped they could go back to America to settle and raise James in the place where Steve grew up in (home is home, you know?), they knew it was a long shot with their status as fugitives in the American government. Besides, they were grateful that the royal family of Wakanda was welcoming enough to the idea that they will raise their child there, let alone take them in for shelter and protection. So while they can’t exactly go home yet, they might as well make Wakanda a home where James can grow up in.

And James loved the outdoors, especially the palace garden. He loves to go bird watching, and squeals every time he sees a butterfly, which is probably what pushed the baby to stand up that same afternoon. A butterfly flew over the family just as when Steve was holding James and Natasha was preparing the sandwiches she had made for her and Steve, and mashed fruits for James. James babbled, and pointed at the butterfly, and Natasha stuck her hand out where the butterfly landed. James surprised both his parents when he pushed himself from Steve’s loose grasp and attempted to take a wobbly step to reach the butterfly. Steve caught him just in time before James fell over (because he couldn’t walk just yet), but James was happy enough the butterfly landed on his small finger.

James giggled as he tossed the butterfly and watched it fly, and both Natasha’s and Steve’s hearts fluttered at their son’s achievement in standing on his own, and also perhaps with the fact that the entire sight was just too damn adorable. The parents rewarded James with lots of kisses that same afternoon, and more cuddles in the evening.

And since then, they have been encouraging James to take his first few steps on his own. Shuri had given them a walker to help James aid in his first few steps, but so far there had been no progress nor any indication that James is ready to take his first few steps without any walker nor guidance from his parents. But then again, he’s not like any other baby, and since Steve and Natasha didn’t want to miss any of James’ milestones (especially not this one), they encourage him everyday to try.

James is smiling as he stands in front of his father, and tries to take wobbly step using his left leg but he ends up falling on his front, but Steve managed to catch him before he can hit the mats. “I got you, little guy,” Steve says, holding James in his arms. He attempts to straighten the baby up to a standing position, but the baby wiggles his legs, and sticks his lower lip at his father. Steve chuckles and pulls the baby to his lap, pressing a kiss on his forehead. “Got a little tired, huh?”

James babbles as he buries his face in Steve’s chest and he presses another kiss on James’ red hair. “You miss Mommy? Me too,” he says softly. “But she’ll be home really soon, and when she comes home, I want you to give her a big kiss, okay?” James looks up at him and he giggles, and Steve takes that as a yes from his son.

It’s the first time since James was born that Natasha was out for an all-day mission with Okoye and Nakia, and she’s due to come home any time that evening. It’s a local mission, and nothing too dangerous or difficult, and definitely _ nothing _ Natasha has not done hundreds of times, but it still took a toll on her that she had to leave her son for quite a longer time than normal. Sure, she’d spent an afternoon away from her little boy, but it was never an entire day, and, in Natasha’s own words, she “will never be ready to spend a lifetime away” from her little boy, and how she was worried she might miss his first steps. But Steve assured her that James would know to wait when he’ll take his steps, and it would be when his Mommy would be there to watch him.

It was the first time Steve had witnessed Natasha being so overly worried, and a tad bit dramatic, despite witnessing her be moody and hormonal being pregnant. But he found it rather adorable especially when it’s directed to their son.

And Steve has been with James since the baby woke up this morning, except when Bucky dropped by their floor after breakfast, he played with his godson while Steve did a bit of training with T’challa. But other than that, it was just Steve and James. They had lazed around in the palace garden, where Steve took James with his walker for a short walk to get some sun, and they went to see how Bucky was tending to his goats.

Steve had a mini heart attack where he thought James would take his first few steps when he was standing in front of the goats. But then he fell on his butt as soon as he tried to take a wobbly step forward. He blinked several times, and Steve and Bucky thought he was gonna cry, but he instead extended his arms to reach for Steve, who gladly picked him up.

“Mama?” James looks up at Steve and asks, his head tilting and his eyes widening. Steve smiles.

“Yeah, buddy, Mama’s coming home soon,” Steve says, and he lets James stand on his lap while he supports his body. The little boy’s face lights up. “But she’ll be really tired because she’s going home from a mission, so I need to give her a big hug, okay?”

“Mama ha?” James asks, and Steve nods, smiling, knowing that “ha” is “hug” in James’ dictionary. James grins up at his father. “Dada ha!”

James wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, burying his face in the crook of his neck and Steve laughs softly, smoothing James’ back with his hand and pressing a kiss on the side of his head. “My sweet boy,” he murmurs softly, smiling as he presses James closer to him. “Hope that when you grow up, you’ll never get tired of little things like this.”

James lifts his head and smiles, pressing his hands on both of Steve’s cheeks, and Steve smiles, leaning to press a kiss on James’ nose, eliciting a laugh from the baby. James wiggles his legs again, his toes reaching to touch the mat and Steve chuckles. “Wanna try again, huh?” he asks, and he kneels to place James down on his feet on the mat, giving a foot of distance between them.

The door opens, and Steve looks up and smiles when he sees Natasha, still in her stealth suit and a weary expression on her face, walk in. James squeals and claps her hands. “Hey, sweetheart.” Steve greets softly, just as Natasha closes the door and walks over to them and smiles at the sight of her boys. She quickly kneels and sits on her heels once she lands on the mat, and Steve wraps an arm around his wife’s shoulder, pulling her in for a kiss.

“You okay? We didn’t hear your jet come in.” Steve asks softly, and Natasha nods, smiling softly at her husband.

“Just a little tired, and I was just dropped off,” Natasha replies. “Okoye and Nakia took off in another mission.”

And when the two parents face their son, the baby boy is looking down at his feet just in time to take two successful steps forward. Natasha gasps, smiling widely as she opens her arms, and James giggles, taking two more steps before he stumbles into his mother’s arms.

“Oh my goodness,” Natasha breathes, laughing softly as she presses a kiss on James’ head. She looks up at Steve who is also smiling widely down at their son. “Is this his first time?”

“Yeah, it is.” Steve says, a proud smile on his face as Natasha laughs again and starts peppering James’ face with kisses. The baby laughs and he reaches for Natasha’s face.

“Oh,” Natasha says, and she looks up at her husband, grinning. She pulls James into her chest, and the baby babbles as he buries his face in the crook of her neck, grabbing a handful of her hair in his fist. “I didn’t miss anything?” Steve chuckles and shakes his head.

“He wouldn’t let his Mommy miss a thing,” Steve says softly, smiling. “He was excited to see you come home.”

Natasha smiles, leaning forward to press a kiss on Steve’s lips. “It’s good to be home.” she says softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, kudos appreciated!


	5. Darling, Hold My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 05\. Three times Natasha held Steve's hand before missions and fights, and the one time James held his.
> 
> "He takes a deep breath and recomposes his stance, immediately feeling his fingers threaded with someone else’s. It’s not just someone else’s, it’s his wife’s gloved hand against his, giving his hand a light squeeze."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically just an excuse to write more fluff, and a little more angst on the side as well. Though I can say this one has a good ending, so we're good, we're fine.
> 
> Again, thanks so much for all your kind comments! Leave more kudos, leave more reviews and share it to your friends! My inbox is also open for suggestions or prompts, so just shoot a comment if you want me to write about something.

He’s never usually nervous.

Not usually, not ever. Even as a scrawny kid from Brooklyn whose bullies were twice the size of him before, Steve was never nervous to stand and fight against them, despite Bucky’s continuous pleas of standing down because he’ll end just end up wounded and bruised. He didn’t mind, even if it meant he’ll come home with another cut on his cheek or bruise on his side. Steve has always been a fighter, and over time, he got used to it. Fights are normal, so why should it faze him?

Perhaps it’s because he thought he had nothing left to lose.

“Steve?”

He releases a breath and allows himself to feel the warmth pool in his chest and relief wash over him at the sound of her voice—_ her _, Natasha, his partner in more ways than one. Since the moment they had both expressed their immense love for each other (in more ways than just by words), they never left each other’s side. All fights are always fought by the two of them, neither of them willing to leave each other’s sides. They had gone through so much separations over the past years, and they have wasted so much time hiding what they really feel for each other, so even if they have more than a hundred countries looking for them as fugitives, they sure as hell won’t let them separate them from each other.

He can’t lose her.

Maybe that’s when the feeling of nervousness came in every time they have a mission, because even if they’re together, he already _ has _ something, someone to lose. He knows she’s capable, more capable than he can ever be, in protecting herself, but that doesn’t mean the possibility of losing her isn’t there anymore.

He feels strong arms circling around his waist from behind, and her head resting on his back. He rests his hand on her cold hands and gives them a squeeze. He turns around and meets her wide green eyes looking up at him, and he smiles, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting one hand to tuck some hair behind her ear. He chuckles, getting a handful of hair in his fingers.

“This would take some more time of getting used to.” he says softly, and she chuckles, smiling that smile that he knows is only reserved for him—it’s the genuine, beautiful kind of smile that lights up her face, and he thinks he would never get tired of seeing it on her.

“You don’t like it?” Natasha teases, amusement glinting in her eyes, and Steve has to laugh softly at that, shaking his head. He smooths her cheek gently with his thumb as she tips her head up at him.

“I _ love _ it,” he responds. “I love _ you _.”

Natasha smiles up at him as he leans down to press a chaste kiss on her lips, and rests his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. She takes the hand that is on her cheek and threads their fingers together, and Steve pulls Natasha closer to his body, not allowing any bit of space between them, as if afraid that if he lets go even a bit, he would lose her.

And like he said, there’s always a chance he might. They’re due for a mission, and they are to leave in a few minutes. It’s nothing big, really, as they’re just there to intervene a weapons dealing between mercs, and it’s nothing they haven’t done before, but the mission can still turn into a fight, and anything can happen in a fight. If Natasha can hear his heart hammering fast against his chest, she doesn’t say anything. She gives his hand a squeeze and leans up again to give him another kiss on the lips, this time lifting her other hand to run it through his long hair, massaging his scalp in the process. Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and Natasha smiles.

“Better now?” she asks, and Steve hums in satisfaction as Natasha continues to run her fingers through his hair.

“Few more minutes.” Steve replies lazily, leaning down to kiss Natasha on the lips again, and Natasha chuckles, giving his hand another squeeze as she pulls back and scrunches her nose.

“If I didn’t know you better, Rogers, I’d say you’re just stalling to get some,” she says, raising an eyebrow and Steve chuckles. “Maybe tonight when we get back home, alright? Don’t want to keep Sam waiting.”

“Let him wait,” Steve isn’t nervous anymore, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to enjoy what little time he has with the love of his life before a mission. Natasha seems to know that, with the smug smile on Steve’s face, and she laughs softly, her hand that was on his hair going down to cup his cheek. He leans into her touch and she smiles up at him. “I love you.”

She scrunches her nose, but a smile creeps up on her face. “You said that already,” she says, and pecks his lips once more. “I love you too. Now let’s go.” She tugs on his hand and they walk out of the room, meeting Sam who was hunched on the table going over the floor plans in their living room.

* * *

Of course his nervousness would only heighten as time passes, especially now when he’s about to embark on a mission without his partner. Before, when he leaves for a mission, it didn’t matter whether he’ll come back home. _ Home is a matter of circumstance _, and he was always someone who could make a small safe house a home if needed be. His only fear, when it comes to missions, was losing Natasha, losing his partner on the field, but luckily for both of them, that never happened.

But now, as he looks up and finds Natasha leaning against the doorframe, her hand resting on her six-month pregnant belly, he realized that even beyond the fear of losing her on field, he fears never coming back home. _ Home _. Natasha and their baby, the baby that is growing strong inside his wife’s body, they are his home. And since taking refuge in Wakanda, getting married, and settling down, he hasn’t been on a mission that is not within the local area. But now T’challa and Bucky need him for a bigger mission overnight and outside of Wakanda, and Natasha is adamant to let him go, as the least payment they can both give to the King for accepting and housing them is to accompany and aid him in missions.

“James is waiting for you,” Natasha says softly. Steve sighs, resting his hands on the edge of their bed. “He said you’ll be leaving in ten.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, so Natasha walks over to him. Steve gives her a small smile as he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her so she is sitting on his lap. He lets his hand rest on her pregnant belly, and Natasha smiles as she rests her hand over his.

“I can stay if you want.” Steve whispers, and Natasha smiles patiently, lifting a hand to smooth his hair and cup his cheek, making him look up at her.

“I do,” she replies softly. “But it’s okay. The world still needs you.”

“I can’t do it without my partner.”

Natasha chuckles, leaning to press a kiss on his forehead. Steve tilts his head, and Natasha gives him a soft and proper kiss on the lips. She rests her forehead against his, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and taking one of his hand in hers, giving it a light squeeze. She closes her eyes, and kisses the tip of his nose.

“I’ll be here waiting for you,” she says softly. “_ We’ll _ be here waiting for you.” She smiles, pressing their intertwined hands on her belly again. “So as long as you come home to us.”

Steve feels his heart beating fast in his chest, his fear quelling up inside him. “I will.” he says quietly, his voice cracking in the end as he feels his throat go dry. He’s nervous, and fearful, and he shouldn’t be, because he’s capable of going home safe. He’s done it many times, this would be no different, right?

Natasha pulls away slightly and smiles. She untangles her hands from him, and presses both on the side of his head, her thumbs drawing smooth circles on his temples, and Steve sighs at the sensation. “At ease with your mind, soldier,” she says softly. “We’ll be okay.” She pulls him closer to press a kiss on his forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve pulls Natasha closer to him and kisses her softly again on the lips. He leans down to press a kiss on Natasha’s belly, against the soft fabric of her shirt. “And I love _ you _, little one.”

Natasha smiles and stands up, pulling Steve up by the hand. She gives his hand a light squeeze before going out of their room, where Bucky is on the couch, watching the last movie Natasha was watching before entering the bedroom, waiting for Steve.

* * *

They’re in the front line, slightly confident that the barrier will be enough to hold Thanos’ army down, but knew better than being too complacent in a fight against an army of aliens. The barrier is strong enough to be held down, but they knew they had to fight. They watch the creatures—beasts, whatever you call them—as they circle around their parameter, and knew T’challa had to make a call to open a portion of it so they can concentrate the fight to one area.

They won’t know if it’s going to work, but it might buy Shuri some time to work on Vision and destroying the mind stone, so it’s the best plan they have to keep Thanos and his allies away from the palace.

His mind immediately drifts to James, his one-year-old son, who is asleep in his cot bed inside the palace. They need to keep these guys away from him too.

He takes a deep breath and recomposes his stance, immediately feeling his fingers threaded with someone else’s. It’s not just someone else’s, it’s his wife’s gloved hand against his, giving his hand a light squeeze.

In moments like these, it’s normally her that anchors him back to the ground, away from his thoughts going far over his head, making up the worst case scenarios. But as he looks at her beside him, he can see how the determination in her eyes is mixed with fear and worry, and he knows it’s not just because they’re about to fight Thanos’ army, definitely not because they’re about as outnumbered compared to the extraterrestrials, but perhaps it’s because the fate of the universe in their hands. The fate of their son’s life is in their hands.

She usually squeezes his hand to assure him they will be okay, that this battle is just like any other, and it’s nothing the both of them can’t overcome. But now he feels that her squeeze is weaker, lighter than usual, and he knows that it’s his turn to anchor her, to anchor _ both _ of them out of the uncertainty of getting out of here alive. Because if anything, he will make sure, both of them _ will _ get out of here alive, and back to their son.

He will make sure they’ll win.

And as T’challa orders a portion of the barrier to open, Steve squeezes Natasha’s hand, and she looks up at him. He smiles at her, and she smiles back. She takes a deep breath and nods back when he does, and both fix their eyes on the fight coming to them.

* * *

James has been quiet.

He hasn’t been _ totally _ quiet. He still interacts and plays with Cooper, Nathaniel and Morgan, and he responds well to his aunts and uncles, especially to Steve. He still allows Steve to cuddle with him, and he cuddles back. He responds when Steve tells him he loves him, and he still has his own fair share of stories of his games with the rest of the kids.

But he’s been quieter, in a sense that his laughters have decreased almost significantly, both in number of instances and in volume. It’s become a rare sight, James smiling, and him being the first one to tell his fair share of stories. When he does, he tries his best to lengthen them so as to appear normal, but Steve can see that James just couldn’t. He’s more comfortable curled up beside his father, or even just alone on his bed. He’s been more secluded, quieter, a little withdrawn since…

Since he went home without his mother.

James asked where she was the moment Steve went back home and his son sees him without her, and because James is old enough to understand the basic concepts of life and death, he told him the truth: that his Mommy sacrificed her life so they can bring the others who were affected by The Blip (it’s what they call it in school). Steve said his Mommy was a hero, and that she loved him, both of them. He never knew what went down in that planet because she was with Clint, but he didn’t think he’d like to know, and he didn’t think James would also like to know. James had cried that night, and so did Steve. James bargained, and asked if it would be possible she would come back. Steve didn’t answer, and he just held his son tight.

James had been sensitive and perceptive enough to also know that Steve was as affected as he is with the loss, which is why Steve thought that James had been trying so hard to appear normal when with the kids and with Steve, in an effort to quell up the mood. He takes after his mother in that way. He puts other people’s feelings and emotions before his, even if it kills him that he’d no longer see his mother smile when he wakes up, or that she’d never be able to play with him outdoors if he wants to. He takes those feelings and bottle it inside him, and puts in an effort to lift his father’s spirits up, as well as his aunts and uncles.

It goes on for a week, until one night when Steve passed by his son’s bedroom in the Tower, he heard muffled cries and whimpers.

“I miss Mommy.” James had said when Steve came in and gathered his son in his arms. James is turning seven in a month, but he’s not big enough yet that he can’t fit in Steve’s arms when he cradled him. Steve pressed a kiss on his son’s head, restraining his own tears from falling.

“Me too, buddy, so much,” Steve said, clutching his son tighter to him. “And it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to miss her.”

“Bring her back, Daddy,” James pleaded, looking up at him, his blue eyes wide and pleading. “Bring Mommy back from the stars, or ask Uncle Tony to bring her back from space. He goes to space a lot, Daddy.” It had been one of Tony's stories to the kids: that he had been to space for a long time, and when it was his turn to explain to the kid why his Mommy isn't with them, he simply said that she's somewhere in space as one of the stars. He buried his face in his father’s shirt, and just kept on murmuring to Steve, pleading him to bring his mother back.

Steve couldn’t promise, not if he’s sure it would come true. So he just murmured loving words to his son, rocking him as he fell asleep in his arms. He decided to carry him to their bed, partly so should James would wake up because of a nightmare, he’d be there to comfort him, and partly because he needs proof to know that his family is still here. Natasha may have been gone, but their son isn’t.

When Rocket and Bruce assembled the glove and is ready to be used, Steve wanted him to be with Pepper and Morgan, anywhere far from the Tower. So that morning, Tony drove both of them to their house to drop James off. He squatted down to his son’s level and smoothed his mussy red hair.

“You be good, okay? I’ll see you later.” Steve said, and James nodded. James tilted his head and took his father’s hand, giving it a light squeeze, and Steve had once again been reminded of his late wife, and his son’s late mother.

“Love you, Daddy.” James said. Steve pulled his son in his arms, embracing him, relishing the feeling of his son in his arms.

“I love you, James,” Steve said, and he pulled back, and he gave his son a smile. “I’ll come home, okay? I’ll come home to you.” James nodded, and off they went.

And now as Steve stands alone in front of Thanos and his army, he lets out a breath, offering up a prayer that James would forgive him if he doesn’t come home, and that he will grow up to be big, strong, kind and compassionate. He offers a prayer that Natasha would forgive him for letting her down, and that maybe someday, they can meet—

“Hey, Cap, do you hear me?” He stops, as he carefully listens to his earpiece, above the static. “Cap, it’s Sam, do you hear me? On your left.”

And slowly everyone else comes in through portals. T’challa, Okoye, Shuri, and the rest of the Wakandian warriors, Sam flying in, the kid Steve recognized to be the one from Queens, Bucky, Wanda, and many others coming up behind him. He turns, and he sees Thor get up, summoning Stormbreaker, and Tony gets up as well when he sees Pepper fly in her own suit. Scott emerges from the ruins, bringing in Bruce, Rhodes and Rocket.

He finally turns when everyone is in position. “Avengers!” he shouts. And immediately, he feels a hand—__a gloved hand, the feeling of the fabric and leather familiar in his hand—slip in his. His heart hammers in his chest, and he turns to find Natasha, whole, beautiful, in all her glory, in her stealth suit, as if she had just been out for a while, and not for a week, as if she hadn't died and came back with him. Her batons are at her back, and her Widow Bites are charged at her wrists, her stance ready for battle, and she is right there with him, beside him, smiling up at him.

"Sorry it took me more than a minute, soldier." she says softly, and he chuckles, not taking his eyes off of her. Every inch of his body is buzzing, both with anticipation for the battle and the feeling of the love of his life—whom he once thought was gone forever without even saying goodbye—beside him, alive and whole.

Her eyes are glistening with unshed tears, but her face is determined and proud, especially when he lifts his hand to summon Mjolnir. He smiles, feeling his own tears come in as she feels her hand squeeze his.

She came back. She is real, and she is here. She is ready to fight beside, and alongside him, and now he feels invincible.

Thanos and his army be damned.

He turns his head and looks at the titan straight in the eye, not letting go of Natasha’s hand. He takes a deep breath, and squeezes Natasha’s hand. “Assemble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that this is gonna be the last Endgame-related content I'm gonna write about, or at least content that's compliant to Nat's death. It's too emotionally taxing :( Anyway, reviews, kudos appreciated!


	6. I See You (And Only You) Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 06\. From Natasha's point of view, how does she see Steve?
> 
> "When she thought she’d spent the rest of her life alone, especially after the Accords, where the only family she ever had had been taken away from her, she found Steve because he is her family, always has been from the beginning, and now she doesn’t know what to do if he's not with her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again, everyone, for the kind kind comments for my past works! I appreciate all of them, and I do sincerely hope you're enjoying all my works too. Don't forget to share it to your friends who are also Romanogers shippers!
> 
> And again, if you have any suggestions on what I should write next, feel free to drop a comment! Thanks so much, and here's a fluff chapter after a very emotional last chapter. Enjoy!

Natasha sees them in the palace garden, hunched down behind a bush, as Steve is holding a pair of binoculars in front of James’ eyes. He is murmuring something to his ear, and James mumbles back, and even in the distance, she can hear her son’s small voice babbling to his father, and that enough makes her heart swell.

She’s not sure what they’re watching this time, a new bird maybe, since that’s what’s Steve has been reading about as of late, since he’d seen how fascinated their son is on animals and wildlife, and luckily for them, Wakanda is rich in their biodiversity. He had been the one to ask Shuri for a pair of binoculars, and she happily gave them one, explaining that it’s better used for bird watching as it can be adjusted to see more clearly from a distance.

“If you’re interested in animal watching,” the princess said. “I think I can help. I have a scientist in the lab who specializes in taxonomy too. He can come with you guys if you want.”

“I kinda wanted it to be an intimate family thing if it’s alright,” Steve said almost sheepishly. “Since James loves watching them, and he’s still a baby, so I don’t think he’ll need all those complicated...science stuff.”

Shuri chuckled and nodded. “Okay, but if you want to know more,” She got up to retrieve one of the books in her shelves. “Here’s a book, a guide of the birds seen in Wakanda. Maybe it’ll aid you as time passes.”

And so that’s what Steve reads in his free time, when James is napping or having his usual quality time with Natasha, or when he’s waiting for Natasha to come back from a meeting, a mission or just a simple girls’ hangout with the Dora Milaje. It helps that the super soldier serum also enhanced his memory, so he can remember the birds so easily that one day while Steve and Natasha were taking a stroll in the gardens, he pointed at a bird and was able to easily mention the name.

“My favorite is the Red and Yellow Barbet,” he told his wife one time. “‘Cause they usually go in pairs when they sing, and their songs are kind of territorial too.”

A bird of that kind did pass by, and Steve smiled and shrugged. “Guess I’ve always got a thing for redheads.” And Natasha burst out in laughter at that.

She found out from Steve that James’ favorite bird is the Lilac Breasted Roller. He’d pointed it to her once, and she smiled and marveled as the bird spread its light blue-colored wings. “I see why,” she told Steve, looking up at him. “James had always been so fond of colors, just like his Daddy.”

Apart from bird watching, Steve had also taken it upon himself to introduce James to coloring and art. Shuri had given James a set of coloring crayons and pencils when she found out James had started walking (“It won’t make sense if the boy knew how to walk but didn’t know how to hold a crayon.” she had said, despite Natasha’s insistence on the fact that James is just a ten-month-old baby.), so Steve also showed James how to color and write in their down time, or when it’s his turn to have quality time with his son. Natasha and Steve would also do it together to release some stress, but mostly Steve wanted to expose James to art, of course because he is a lover of art himself.

And because of it, James had been able to somehow babble the names of basic colors like blue (to which he says, “boo”), red (“ed”, sometimes “eh”), yellow (“neno”, most of the time he just points at it), and green (“ee”, and sometimes “een”). Even if he can’t say it, though, he’s able to point and distinguish it when Steve would say it. He loves the color blue, so he always picks the blue crayon first when it’s his turn to color, followed by the purple one, because of course, he thinks it’s also blue.

So yeah, it made sense that James’ favorite bird was the Lilac Breasted Roller, and that’s probably what they’re observing now as Natasha watches them from afar with a fond smile, judging by the way James is bouncing on his feet on Steve’s lap.

And Steve…

She’s been lucky enough to have him since the day they met. Even as partners, he had been nurturing and caring, able to handle her at her worst, and was always there when she needed him to be. He was never afraid of her, not even when she gets angry (to which, normally,  _ lots _ of people would be scared), but he also acknowledges her leadership capabilities and follows her lead when necessary. He had always been gentle, sensitive and attuned to her mood, able to give her some space if she needed it, or some company if she was up for it.

And even as they became romantically involved, he was still the same, only this time, he always made sure to tell her how much he loves her, and remind her everyday that she’s beautiful, amazing and wonderful. He was always so supportive, especially in being a new mother, and had always been very caring and careful when he took care of her all throughout her pregnancy and even until now. He makes time for her, makes sure that he listens to everything she has to say, from her stories to her rants and sentiments, and he would always know the right thing to say to her. He comforts her in difficult times, and celebrates with her in good times. Even as they fight in their marriage, he’s always the first to ask for forgiveness, even if she’s the one who’s at fault. At times, she feels guilty, and she tells him that, so he allows her to apologize and ask for forgiveness, even if he had already forgiven her. He would be the one to initiate their talk, because he knows Natasha is still working her way through the issue of asking for forgiveness and forgiving herself, so he understands, and they would be okay.

When she thought she’d spent the rest of her life alone, especially after the Accords, where the only family she ever had had been taken away from her, she found Steve because he is her family, always has been from the beginning, and now she doesn’t know what to do if he's not with her.

She snaps out of her thoughts when she hears the familiar and melodious sound of James’ laughter, and she smiles when she sees James tackling Steve, and Steve lying on his back with James on top of him. He carries the baby up in the air, and James continues to laugh as the baby reaches down for his father’s face. Steve says something, bringing James down to give the baby a kiss on the nose, before bringing him back up, eliciting a giggle from the ten-month-old.

With James, he always finds a way to make him laugh. He’s a good father, always caring and making time to play with James even when he comes home tired after missions. When he found out how much James loves going outdoors and watching birds and insects, he took it upon himself to learn more about them.

“So I’d know what to teach James when he gets older,” he once said, when Natasha asked him about it. “I know he can learn about all these things in school, but I’d want to let him know he has someone to share it with at home, you know?” He smiled so shyly about it, and she couldn’t help but give him a soft kiss for it.

He focuses on James’ growth, always so proud of every milestone James hits, and is always the first one to share it with T’challa, Shuri or Bucky. Sure, James’ is a big mama’s boy, and he prefers cuddling with her more than him on occasion, or he prefers that Natasha be the one to hold him when he gets sleepy or tired, but she’s sure enough that he shares the same bond with Steve, only in selected spectrum of things, like nature and art, or anything that will contribute to his intellectual growth and pique his interest. Steve understands that, and he cherishes it, expanding his array of interests to accommodate his son's, and nurturing it as he grows.

How did they get so damn lucky?

“Mama!” she hears James squeal, and she smiles when she sees Steve holding James up, probably restraining him from running too fast until Natasha is in a safe distance to do so. Natasha chuckles as she walks, and when she got close enough, Steve puts James down, and the baby almost makes a wobbly beeline at his mother, extending his small arms as he giggles and toddles towards Natasha.

“Hey, little guy,” Natasha coos, scooping James up in her arms, and giving him a big kiss on the cheek. The baby giggles, his blue eyes that mirror his father's sparkling, and his red hair mussed. “Enjoyed your day with Daddy today?”

The baby claps his hands and babbles, and Natasha walks over to where Steve is sitting on their mat, still behind the bush, a soft smile on his face as he watches them. Even as he doesn’t say anything, Natasha can feel the love in his gaze whenever he looks at her, whenever he looks at  _ them _ . Even when he doesn't say anything, she knows that he's telling her that he loves her, that he loves _them_.

That's the thing about Steve: in everything that he does, he does it with love radiating off of him. He doesn't need words to tell them how much he loves them. He just...he just _does_, and he makes sure the people around him know and understand that.

She removes her sandals and sits beside Steve, settling James on her lap. Steve's smile widens as he straightens himself when Natasha settles, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close.  “Hey, beautiful.” Steve greets softly, and Natasha hums, leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips.

“Hey yourself,” Natasha says, kissing him again, and she feels him smile against her mouth. “Had fun with James today? Did you get to see his favorite bird?”

“We did, we saw two, all beautiful as ever,” he replies softly, and he lifts a hand to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “But even better, we got to see our favorite girl, and she’s more beautiful than all of those birds combined.” Natasha giggles, shaking her head.

“My boys are such charmers, huh,” she says, and Steve laughs softly, smiling at her. She smiles up at him and kisses his cheek. “I love you.”

Steve smiles cheekily, his face lightening up. “I love you too, Nat.” he replies, leaning again to kiss her on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews and kudos very much appreciated!


	7. The Last Five Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07\. Steve leaves Natasha a voice message.
> 
> ""But I don’t want to dwell on the what-ifs, or the fact that maybe we could have acted on our feelings sooner, because it gave us time to build on our friendship, you know, and we’re strong now because of it. We’re here now, and we’re going to move forward and that’s it.""

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this work is honestly just an excuse for more fluff. This is just an idea that just suddenly sprang in my mind, and I think it turned out okay. Hope you enjoy more of these fluffs! For those craving for angst, stay tuned ;)

Natasha had just come out of the bathroom when her phone lights up, and she remembered hearing it ring earlier, but James had become fussy so she allowed it to go to voicemail while she fed him and put him to sleep. She had eventually forgotten since she also fell asleep when James napped. But now both of them are awake, she’s free to check her voicemails.

She grabs the phone and sits back down on the couch in front of the mat where James is crawling to grab a handful of crayons so he can draw on the paper in front of him. She smiles, and makes sure that James wouldn’t put any of the crayons in his mouth before checking her phone. Steve had been the one calling her earlier, and now he left a series of voicemails. She presses the first one, and puts it on loudspeaker.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve’s voice comes in, and James perks up at the sound of his father’s voice. Natasha smiles at her baby. “You’re probably asleep, or James became fussy, probably why you haven’t picked up when I called. It’s nothing urgent, by the way. T’challa, Bucky, Nakia and I are on our way back, and the mission had been a success. But I think you’d have to give us another few hours before we actually  _ do _ get back. We’re not in a jet after all, and it’s a long drive from Nkhotakota to Wakanda, so hope I’ll be home before James falls asleep.”

“Dada?” James asks, looking up at his mother with wide blue eyes, and Natasha nods.

“Yeah, baby, come here.” Natasha puts the phone down carefully before she leans down to scoop James up in her arms, pressing a soft kiss on his hair before settling him down on her lap. She takes the phone in her hand again.

“The mountains here are beautiful, Nat,” Steve continues. “And the lake,  _ God _ , the lake here in Nkhotakota, it’s a beautiful view. And the trees, the wildlife, James would love it here.” James perks up when he hears her name and Natasha chuckles, pressing another kiss on her son’s soft hair. “I’ve asked T’challa about it, the places we could go to that can be safe, so we could also go out for a quick trip, maybe show James more of the outside world beyond Wakanda. He said he could ask us to be accompanied, but maybe wait for a few months just to be safe, because we’ll never know where Ross’ trails reach, you know. Told him I understand, and we’ve yet to explore more of Wakanda anyway.”

Natasha laughs softly, resting her head on top of James’. If this were a normal conversation, she’d probably tease Steve for asking T’challa for an out, telling him he’s probably sick of the place already, and the king might kick them out if he finds out. He wouldn’t, of course, Natasha knows that, but it’s still quite a sight to see Steve get all worked up in taking the joke back, even if it was the two of them only.

Besides, they receive a well amount of support here as a family. In exchange for aiding in missions, they’re getting shelter and food for free, and some necessary amenities like gym, clinics when necessary, and all that. They’re treated as royal guests, now turned as residents in the royal palace. Plus, they have a good amount of friends already in the place. They’re living as normally as they’re permitted to, and their living conditions are better than when they were on the run, so there’s nothing they could complain about in this place.

“You hear that, Jamie? Daddy said we might go out more.” Natasha says softly, her finger stroking lightly on James’ chubby cheek. The baby gurgles and smiles up at his mother, and Natasha smiles.

“And I think we’ve yet to go to our honeymoon, you know,” Steve says, and Natasha chuckles. “I know it’s been more than a year since we got married, but I still feel bad about not taking my wife for a honeymoon. But a late honeymoon is better than none, right? So I’ll just take note of that and remember that. Maybe when all of this is over, and the dust settles, I’ll take you to a proper honeymoon, just you and me. James can stay with Bucky, he’ll know what to do with him.” Natasha hears a faint ‘hey!’ that sounded like Bucky, and she hears Steve chuckle, making her smile. “Yeah, he’ll say yes. He loves James too much to say no.”

Natasha hears Bucky in the background, “If that kid is indeed a combination of you and Natalia, I swear, Rogers, your kid will be the death of me. You had the gall to name him after me.” Natasha laughs softly, and she hears Steve does the same, with a few muffled snickers, probably coming from T’challa and Nakia. She blushes. Did he really say all of these in front of their friends? She knows it’s nothing too intimate, but it feels too personal to have an audience. Nevertheless, she smiles, because she knows Steve would always  _ love _ to show his wife off to his friends.

“For the record, if James would be half as you would ever be, then I’d be lucky to call him my son,” he continues. “And even if he wasn’t, I’d still love him, because he’s our son. He’s you and me, yet also...him? You get what I mean.” She smiles and looks down at James, who is snuggling in Natasha’s chest, grabbing the hem of her shirt in his fist. “If Buck won’t take up the offer, I could always call in T’challa.”

“And Shuri would love that.” She hears T’challa say, and Natasha chuckles, because it’s true. Shuri had been spoiling James rotten since the kid had been born, always ready to give him toys and all gizmos she had come up with. She would always drop by their floor just to see the baby and hold him for a bit before going back to work, and if she’s too busy, Natasha would visit her in the lab with James to ease the princess off of the stress.

“I didn’t say I won’t do it.” Bucky says in the background, and Steve chuckles, probably waving them off.

“Guess we have babysitters now. So it’s just the where and when,” Steve says lightly, making Natasha’s heart flutter. “I was thinking maybe a beach somewhere? We’ve yet to expose James to the sand and the sea. I’m sure he’ll love that as much as forests and grass where we are now.”

“Mama.” James says softly, reaching up to his mother’s face, like how he usually does when he’s sleepy and about to go to nap or sleep. Natasha smiles, leaning down and James smiles when he touches her face. She presses a kiss on the tip of James’ nose, eliciting a giggle from the baby, before burying his face to her shirt.

“Do you know what day it is today, though? I just remembered,” Steve continues softly, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows in confusion. “It’s March 8, the anniversary of the Battle of New York.” Natasha’s face lights up into a smile. “It’s the day I just  _ knew _ I was going to fall in love with you since you’ve jumped off my shield and into a Chitauri ship,” Steve chuckles. “I remember thinking ‘how crazy is Romanoff, riding in a ship she doesn’t even know how to drive with some aliens who are determined to kill her off in an instant?’, but then you managed, as you always do, and you found a way to close the portal and save us. And I figured, ‘man, she’s  _ good _ ’, and then I was intrigued by you since then. I think that’s how we started, you know, you and me, the weird partnership we had and the beautiful relationship we have now. Yeah, that was the day, five years ago today.”

Five years, huh? And they only got married sixteen months ago, got together nine months before that. If what Steve said was true, then she’d say they’ve been dancing around each other’s feelings for almost a good three years?

“Think we’ve wasted time not acting on our feelings?” Steve chuckles. “You’ve always tried setting me up with other girls, but I was never interested, ‘cause I only wanted you. But I don’t want to dwell on the what-ifs, or the fact that maybe we could have acted on our feelings sooner, because it gave us time to build on our friendship, you know, and we’re strong now because of it. We’re here now, and we’re going to move forward and that’s it."

Natasha leans back on the couch, allowing James to rest his head on her chest. She can see his eyes slowly fluttering close, but she can also see how determined he is to keep his eyes open, wanting to hear his Daddy’s voice, probably. He lets out a small yawn and Natasha rubs his back gently with her hand, patting his back softly.

“I’d say it to you personally too, but while we’re at it, I’ll say it anyway. I’m the luckiest man to ever have you as my wife, and James as our son. You gave me a life when I thought I could never have one anymore, and you gave me a reason to push through even if I thought I’m too tired to continue living. I’m lucky enough that you’re the first person I see in the morning, and the last person I see at night, and I’m lucky enough to also get the chance to hold you in my arms, and get to know you better everyday,” Natasha smiles, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “Thank you for giving me a life, and for giving me James. I know our circumstances aren’t as great and normal than we’d hoped, and we’ve been lucky because of T’challa, but thank you for making every day the best one I’ve ever had yet.”

The door opens, and Natasha looks up to find Steve walking in, a soft smile on his face. James lifts his head and gurgles when he sees his father. “I love you, Nat, and it’s not official but...happy anniversary to the day I knew I’d fall in love with you. I’ll see you later. Give James a kiss for me.” Steve’s voice on the phone says, and Natasha’s smile widens when Steve closes the door and walks over to sit on the couch beside her.

“Five years ago today, huh?” Natasha asks softly, and Steve nods, leaning to kiss her on the lips.

“Yeah, crazy five years, huh?” he responds, and Natasha hums, leaning to kiss him again. James babbles and extends his arms to Steve, who takes him happily in his arms, pressing a kiss on the baby’s forehead.

Natasha runs her hand through Steve’s hair, and when he looks at her, with James’ head resting on his shoulder, she smiles. “I love you, Steve,” she says softly. “And I’m the luckiest woman to have ever found you.” Steve’s smile widens and Natasha laughs softly, pulling him in closer for another kiss. “Happy unofficial anniversary.” Steve chuckles.

“Happy unofficial anniversary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, kudos appreciated! Leave a message in my inbox for prompts and requests. I'm working on those suggestions which were left in this work. :)


	8. These Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 08\. Natasha refuses to come home after a particularly hard mission.
> 
> "She didn’t feel the weight of it, or the fatigue that washed over her until she brought the girl and reunited with her team. It was then that Nakia saw the tears slowly forming in Natasha’s eyes. Nakia didn’t mention it, not until they were running down the hall behind the girls that Natasha stopped in her tracks to look at the mess she had left."

Natasha looks through the blinds of the windows in her small motel room again as she sighs, letting the tears run down her face as she closes the blinds and leans her forehead against the window. She leans against the wall and slides down, looking down at her hands.

These hands that have killed when she swore to herself, to her son and to her husband that she wouldn’t.

It had been a difficult mission. T’challa had sent her, Nakia, Okoye and Ayo for a rescue mission of a group of hostaged girls in Nigeria. Natasha was tasked to extract the team and the girls, as the three Wakandian warriors were tasked to go undercover as part of the hostaged girls. The main plan was to take the heads from the inside, and Natasha would extract them when Okoye would give her a signal. In the meantime, she was in charge of overseeing, signalling the women of when to enter and where through the comms, as she watches the situation from afar using one of Shuri’s new inventions that allow her to take a view of the facility even from outside.

It was going well at first, with the women able to take the men out from the inside, and Natasha was called in to take the security out. It was easy, and it was nothing she hadn’t done before. Despite being months off of the field since being pregnant with James, her skills were still sharp and her kicks and punches trained and precise. She had no difficulty getting in, but when she did get in the facility, she forgot her navigator and so had to manually find the girls and her team.

That was when she heard muffled screams, cries and moans, and muffled grunts as well. She knows those sounds.

She didn't _like_ those sounds.

So she kicked the door open, and the sight of a young girl crying under a man’s body was enough for her to lose it. She was filled with rage, and attacked without even thinking twice about it. She remembered instructing the girl to stay in the hallway, and her kicking and punching the man as she allowed the girl to grab her discarded clothes shakily and ran to the hallway.

She doesn’t remember the fight that much, but she does remember him fighting back, his kicks landing hard on her stomach and side. She remembers thinking about the girl being abused at such a young age, of how she can see herself in the horrors of the Red Room being done to the girl now. She remembers not wanting the girl to grow up the way she did: secluded, detached and numb from all the violence and trauma she received as a young girl.

Of course, she remembered seeing the bloody, limp figure of the man on the floor, almost all of his teeth knocked out and bruises forming on his neck where her hands were.

She killed him. When she promised to be better, and when she actually  _ was _ becoming better, another red was added to her ledger.

She didn’t feel the weight of it, or the fatigue that washed over her until she brought the girl and reunited with her team. It was then that Nakia saw the tears slowly forming in Natasha’s eyes. Nakia didn’t mention it, not until they were running down the hall behind the girls that Natasha stopped in her tracks to look at the mess she had left.

“Nat, we don’t have time.” Nakia said, her hand gripping Natasha’s arm as she dragged Natasha to run. Natasha followed, but her vision becomes blurry and her head starts spinning, but she managed to stick with the group.

On the way back, when they made sure the girls were safe and fast asleep, Nakia made her way to Natasha, wrapping her arms around the woman, and that was when the nonstop tears started to fall.

“It’s okay,” Nakia whispers, tightening her arms around the woman. “We did it, it’s over.”

No, she doesn’t get it. “I’ve killed,” Natasha lets out a sob. “I killed a man.” As if it was her first time, but it’s not. But she did make a promise to be better, that is, to hurt only when necessary and to never kill. She made a promise to herself to wipe the red off her ledger by focusing on being a good person, a good wife and a good mother.

She had broken that promise.

“He was meant for the worst,” Nakia says softly. “He was hurting the girls. He is no man. There is no humanity inside him, with what he had done to those girls.”

She’s got a point, but a life is still a life, and she had taken one. When she promised to never take a life, she meant it. But at that moment, she felt like she had regressed, that all progress and promises she had made to herself and to her family had meant nothing. That after this one kill, she would do it over again until the guilt eventually passes, and it would become a normal thing for her once again.

You know what they say: once a monster, always a monster.

Natasha shakes her head and removes the gloves from her hands. It still had blood stains on, and she put it on the floor beside her. She looks at her hands which are shaking as she rests it on her pulled up knees. These hands are those that hold her son in her arms, cradling him closer to her chest, playing with him every morning and every night, have killed. These hands are those that run through her husband’s hair every morning when he wakes up beside her, pulling him closer to her for a kiss, cupping his face so she can comfort him, and tell her she loves him, have killed. These hands don’t deserve to hold her son nor her husband, not anymore. Not when there’s more blood, more red, more lives taken because of her hands.

She jolts when she hears a knock on the door, and she freezes in her place.

“Nat?” Tears start to gather in her eyes when she hears the soft, smooth and familiar voice of her husband. “Nat, it’s me. Please open the door.”

She starts sobbing, pulling her knees closer to her chest. He must have heard what happened, Nakia must have told him what happened, and why she is here instead of home with them. If he knows what happened, why is he here? He shouldn’t be here.

“Nat, sweetheart, please,” Steve’s voice becomes desperate, but it’s still soft. “Please open up, please let me in.”

Natasha stands, her legs shaky, but she is unable to move closer to the door. “Nakia told me, and she’s been worried,” Steve continues softly. “And when I found out, I also got worried. Why didn’t you come home?”

_ Because I don’t deserve to come home. I don’t deserve James, I don’t deserve you. _ She takes a few steps closer to the door, but stops just a few feet before it, leaning her body against the wall for support before she lets out a sob, one that she knows Steve would hear on the other side.

“I’m worried, Nat. I miss you, and James misses you,” Steve pleads, as if hearing her thoughts. “Please open up. Let me hold you, please.”

Natasha takes a shaky breath as she slowly moves forward, her hand resting on the knob. Her hands are shaking as she slowly undos the locks, and she turns the knob, opening it partially to see Steve on the other side of the door, his blue eyes worried and glistening with tears. He pushes the door wider and before she can even say anything, Steve rushes in and wraps his arms around her, while she sobs against his firm chest as she grips his arms firmly for support.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve says softly, pressing a kiss on her hair, and forehead, before resting his cheek against the side of her head. He presses her closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “I got you. It’s okay.”

Natasha sobs harder and louder, and she feels her legs giving up again. Steve seems to have sensed this also, as he lifts her up bridal style, carrying her to the bed. He whispers soothing words to her, telling her that he loves her, and that he’s got her, and it’s okay. And even as he sits down on the edge of the bed, she still doesn’t let him go, afraid that if she does, he’ll realize what a monster she is and walk away to leave her there. She knows she doesn’t deserve him, but she’s not ready to see him walk away with her son just yet.

Steve rocks her back and forth, as she buries her face further in the crook of his neck, her hands clutching his shirt tightly. He’s still whispering soothing words to her, pressing light kisses on her forehead and her cheeks, as he wipes away her tears gently with his thumb. Her sobs eventually died down to soft whimpers and hiccups, and even then, he doesn’t let her go.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha whispers, and Steve shakes his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Nat.” he assures her softly, but she shakes her head, looking up at her husband.

“I’ve killed, Steve,” Natasha says, her voice breaking as tears begin to gather in her eyes. “I’ve killed. I promised you that I won’t, but I did.” She shakes her head, clutching Steve’s shirt tightly. “I’ve killed.”

Steve shakes his head and runs a hand through her hair, pulling her head closer so he can press a gentle kiss on her forehead. “By what Nakia told me, he deserved it.” he says, and Natasha just shakes her head.

“I’m a monster.” she whispers.

“ _ He’s _ the monster,” he assures her firmly. “He hurt those girls, and you saved the girls from people like him. You prevented people like him from terrorizing more young girls."

“That still doesn’t make me killing him alright,” she says. “I failed, Steve. I let myself get out of control. When I saw...when I saw what he was doing to the girl…” she trails off, images of the horrors of what she saw in that room filled her mind, and she closes her eyes, shaking her head. “I let myself get out of control, and I killed him.” She looks down at her hands, closing them in fists. “My hands killed him.”

“You were angry, and rightfully so,” Steve says softly, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “What he did to the girl, and all those other girls, it was cruel. I know you didn’t want to kill, and I know you think this is a mistake, but that doesn’t make you a terrible person, Nat. You are  _ not _ terrible, and you are  _ not  _ a monster. You never were, and you never will be one.”

Natasha sniffles, and Steve takes her hands, opening them up and smoothing his thumb over her palms. “These hands have taken care of our little boy so much and so well,” he says softly. “And these are also the same hands that take care of me whenever I’m hurt, and comfort me when I’m in need of comforting. I know you see these hands now as the ones that have killed, but remember, without these hands, those girls wouldn’t have been saved. Without these hands, James wouldn’t be a good and healthy little boy. Without these hands…” Steve takes a shaky breath as he squeezes her hands. “I wouldn’t want to know where I’d be if you weren’t there with me.”

Natasha reaches up to cup Steve’s cheek, and he looks at her, a soft smile on his face. He rests a hand on hers on his face, squeezing it. “You’re a good person, Nat. You are a good mother, a good wife, a good friend and a good fighter. Don’t let anyone, not even  _ that _ dead man make you believe otherwise,” he continues softly, and Natasha sighs. “Or you’re letting him win. You might make him believe that he was right in hurting those girls.”

She shakes her head. “He’s not right.” she whispers, and Steve nods.

“And we make mistakes, even as we try to become better people,” he continues softly. “It’s okay to make mistakes, so as long as we learn from it, and be better because of it.”

Natasha’s lower lip quivers. “Will you help me?” _Help me be better_, she asks in a small voice, and Steve smiles, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand gently.

“Of course,” he answers. “I’ll be here to hold your hand as we do so together.”

Natasha gives him a small smile, and he leans in to press a soft kiss on her lips. “Now let’s go home, alright? Our baby boy is waiting for his Mommy.”

And even at the mention of his son, Natasha’s heart flutters. She nods, and Steve leans in to give her another soft kiss on the lips. She still hasn’t recovered from earlier’s incident, and she doesn’t think she ever will in an instant, but if her husband—her kind hearted, compassionate and heroic husband—told her that she’s not a monster, she would believe him. If he told her that she would be okay, she would believe him. He’s willing to go down the road with her, and for her, no matter how many mistakes she had done, and because of that, she loves him and believes in him.

And if, at the end of the day, her son would still give her one of his most beautiful smiles that radiates the love she knows her baby has for her as if she’s the best person in the universe out there, then she would believe him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, comments and kudos appreciated!


	9. Malen'kiy Pauk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 09\. When Natasha is not only a mother to James, but also a Mama Spider to a certain Little Spider.
> 
> "He hadn’t picked it up at first, but she wasn’t surprised as well when he later called her “Mama spider” in Russian as well. It made her heart flutter, and it still does now, even as James is now here, and she still continues to call Peter her “little spider” and her his “Mama spider”."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again everyone for your kind reviews! I've read them all, and also considered the suggestions given to me, and rest assured I take all the suggestions into consideration and have them lined up to be worked on soon. Keep them comments and reviews coming! :)
> 
> Also, this oneshot is not in the same universe as that of in the previous chapters where Steve, Nat and James are on the run in Wakanda, but this will follow a timeline and an assumption that there was no Accords aka the second part of A Multiverse of Romanoff and Rogers (thus, no Avengers breakup; thus, a certain young man's appearance in the chapter where he was just brought in to the team by Tony just because). It's just an idea that came in my mind when I chanced upon a Tumblr post that Peter calls Natasha his Mama Spider when she started calling him her Little Spider, and I found it too adorable and too big of a chance to miss, especially when this prompt just highlights more of Natasha's softer, more motherly side.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

Natasha hums as she rocks her chair, smiling down at little James in her arms, his blue eyes wide and blinking as he watches his mother, and his small mouth forming into a smile as he reaches his small arms up at his mother. Natasha grins, still humming her tune as she leans forward, allowing her son to touch her cheek, and the baby gurgles in her arms. Natasha uses her other hand to smooth the baby’s red hair, and the baby gurgles again, giving his mother the most beautiful smile she had ever seen in her life.

Three months. It’s been three months since her son was born, and she had never imagined herself being happier than she is now. Sure, she and Steve would rather skip the part where James would wake up on random hours at night because he was hungry, or needed the attention of either of her parents, and she would pretty much prefer that he would wake them up when it was time for a normal human being to wake, but she didn’t mind. Every minute, and every hour spent with her little boy is a blessing, no matter what time of the day is, and no matter what mood their little James is in.

She feels James squirming in her arms, and she finds him reaching out for her face, his face contorting into an expression where she knows he’s about to cry any time. She chuckles and leans down to press a soft kiss on his forehead. “You want some cuddle time with Mommy, little one?” she asks softly, and James whimpers in response, as if understanding his mother.

“Okay, cuddle time with Mommy.” Natasha says softly, shifting James in her arms so his head is now resting on her shoulder, and his little arms are draped on her shoulders. James wiggles his feet, tucking his face further in Natasha’s neck and Natasha laughs softly, shifting her head to press a kiss on James’ soft hair, inhaling the scent of milk and vanilla from her little boy. She stands up from her rocking chair and slowly paces the nursery, smoothing her hand on James’ back as she continues to hum, her eyes closing as she lets herself fall in the moment of just her and her son.

Steve had gone in on a radio silent mission with Tony and Clint yesterday, and they are not due to come back for another day. It had been the first time Steve had been apart from his family for quite a long time since James was born, let alone this was Steve’s first mission that he had participated in since James was born. When the call to mission came in, Steve had been hesitant to leave, but Natasha was adamant about his departure, telling him that they will be fine, and that this mission must be important that Tony had to call in Steve. They had agreed to call either Steve or Natasha in missions only when absolutely necessary, and since Natasha still couldn’t as her body is still recovering from childbirth, Steve was the better option for the mission.

“We’ll be okay,” Natasha had told her husband. She remembered him holding James in his arms when his wide blue eyes, that which mirror his son’s, are staring at her. Natasha smiles at how their three-month-old baby looks extra smaller compared to his father’s big stature. “Wanda’s here, and so are Peter, Bucky and Bruce. We’ll be okay.”

And it had been difficult, because last night had been the first night they had been apart since James was born, not because James was fussy, but because she just missed him. And it’s ridiculous, really, because even before they had James, they had been apart for so long because of missions, and while they missed each other during the nights they waited on each other, she was pretty sure she never reached the point where she was last night that she was close to tears as she stared at the window of their bedroom, praying their quinjet will fly over and declare the mission a success.

It’s ridiculous, what marriage and motherhood had done to her. But both had been so wonderful also, so who was she to complain, really?

She turns and opens her eyes when she hears the door behind the nursery open and smiles. “I didn’t think you’d be home until later.” she says softly, and Peter smiles widely straightening himself by the door.

“Mister Stark told me to come home early if I can ‘cause he said Wanda’s gonna be out today. No one’s gonna watch over you and James,” he explains, smiling. “And I told MJ that, and she seemed cool with it, so.” He shrugs and Natasha chuckles, shaking her head.

“You know I don’t need you to watch over us, маленький паук.” _Little spider,_ she grins as she says it softly, raising an eyebrow and Peter chuckles, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“I...I know, but I want to,” he answers. “Besides, I missed the little guy.”

Natasha grins and pulls her head back just as James looks up at his mother with wide eyes, a smile forming on his mouth as he sees his mother. “Look who’s here, little one, it’s Uncle Peter.”

The baby takes his time to lift his head as Natasha turns, and the baby smiles brightly and squeals when he sees Peter. Peter grins and walks over as James raises his arms, wiggling to be taken away by Peter who takes him happily in his arms.

“Hey, buddy, how’re you doing?” Peter coos, adjusting James in his arms so he is facing the three-month-old. “You doing okay? You treating Мама паук alright?”

Natasha grins as she crosses her arms and watches the exchange. Ever since Peter had come in to the team, she had always found an easy connection with the young man, and even saw him as more of a foster son rather than a little brother, just like how Steve probably saw Peter. She found it so easy kidding around him, playing with him because they had the same wavelength and sense of humor. She would encourage Peter to pull pranks on their teammates (majority of which focused on Clint, whom Natasha thinks secretly enjoyed being pranked at by Peter and Natasha), and she would watch movies with him on nights she found him unable to sleep and alone in the communal room. Over time, she found that the young man had clung unto her so easily, with him being more open about telling Natasha about his day, opening up about his nightmares, and even asking her advice on how he should ask MJ out.

She enjoyed every moment spent with Peter, that she started calling him “little spider” in Russian: маленький паук. He hadn’t picked it up at first, but she wasn’t surprised as well when he later called her “Mama spider” in Russian as well. It made her heart flutter, and it still does now, even as James is now here, and she still continues to call Peter her “little spider” and her his “Mama spider”.

It’s probably the lack of sleep, or the fact that she has been extremely hormonal since James was born, but she thought that her special connection with Peter was kind of a foreshadowing of her destiny to be a mother to a beautiful baby boy.

“He’s so little,” Peter comments softly as he cuddles James closer to his chest and he looks up at Natasha and smiles. “But when he cries, he cries so loud it’s hard to believe it’s coming from a small human being like him.”

Natasha laughs softly, shaking her head. “He’s a baby, Peter, cut him some slack.” she says teasingly and Peter laughs.

“He’s an enhanced baby,” Peter says, and he pulls away slightly to look at James who is eyeing him curiously, his little fist stuck in his mouth. “Aren’t you, James? You’re gonna grow up just like your Mommy and Daddy?”

James squeals and pulls his fist filled with saliva, resting it on Peter’s chest and Natasha chuckles at the tight-lipped smile Peter gives as he looks down on the spot where James is now crumpling a portion of his shirt with the same fist. “Wow, you got a strong grip there, buddy. Got that from Mama, huh?”

“Hey,” Natasha says, chuckling and Peter grins up at her. “Come on. I’ll go make you a sandwich.”

Natasha walks to the kitchen while Peter follows, bouncing on his feet and continuing to talk and babble to James. He takes a seat by one of the chairs on the kitchen counter, letting James stand wobbling on his legs on Peter’s lap as he grins at the baby who is giggling and cooing at his Uncle Peter.

Natasha smiles and watches fondly (as much as she can while making a peanut butter sandwich and fixing some orange juice) as Peter begins to sing and beatbox, encouraging baby James to dance. The baby giggles, and tries his best to move his legs and arms to the beat, and thankfully, Peter has a strong grip on the baby as he continues to support him on his wobbling legs.

“You dance great, little buddy!” Peter exclaims, earning a squeal from the baby. “Maybe soon when you’re older you can teach me some of your moves, huh?”

Peter looks up at Natasha who lays a plate of sandwich on a glass of orange juice in front of Peter and the young man’s face lightens. She walks over and takes James in her arms. “Come here, little one. Let маленький паук eat his snacks.” She places a kiss on James’ forehead and chuckles when she sees Peter grinning and bouncing in his seat as he sets his eyes on his snacks.

This was also part of their routine: Peter would drop by and Natasha or Steve would fix him a snack, or he would join them for dinner. Sometimes, Wanda would join them, and they would volunteer to play with James while the parents rest. Of course, they wouldn’t just barge in. They respect the family’s privacy as much as anyone, but neither Steve nor Natasha would mind—in fact, they kind of like the idea of having one or both of them around, as they treat both young members of their team like their own children as well. While Natasha has the softest heart for Peter, Steve has the softest heart for Wanda.

“So how was school today?” Natasha begins, as how she would always begin. She takes a seat beside Peter, facing him as she rests James on her lap, and the baby begins to play with the hem of his mother’s shirt.

“It was okay,” Peter says, his mouth full of food. He smiles sheepishly and takes a moment to chew and swallow. “It was okay. Normal, usual. I had an exam in Physics earlier, and I think I did pretty great, I found it really easy.”

Natasha grins. “Well, I guess you had to thank Tony for the extra tutorial. But then again, I didn’t think you needed it.” she says, and Peter chuckles.

“I’m not that smart, Мама паук,” Peter says sheepishly. “Mister Stark helped me a lot in the exam. I don’t think I would’ve answered it smoothly if not for the tutorial.”

“You always sell yourself short. If you were  _ really _ my son, I’d say you picked that up from Steve, and maybe you still did with the amount of time you’re spending with him,” Natasha says, smiling, and Peter laughs. “How about Ned? And his girlfriend, Betty, was it? How are they?”

“Oh they kind of broke up again, so there’s that,” Peter says, laughing. “But they said they’re still be friends, but they always say that, but they still end up dating and breaking up and the cycle just goes on and on and on.” Peter takes a sip from his orange juice and Natasha chuckles, shaking her head. “I don’t know why they do that, you know? I mean will they end up together? Is that even a good thing?”

“Just give them time, maybe they just need to sort out their feelings for each other, you know,” Natasha says. “Are you worried Ned might get hurt?”

“Well yeah, I mean it had to hurt, right? Even if it’s an on-and-off relationship and you kind of expect that someday you’ll end up with that person, but the waiting must hurt, right? And the fact that you’re not sure if you  _ will _ end up together, and the constant attachment and detachment,” Peter says. “I mean I’ve talked to him about it and said that he’s fine, but...is he?”

Natasha smiles. “I was like that with Steve before you know, on and off,” she says, and Peter’s eyes widen that Natasha has to chuckle. “Some of the offs would be on me, some would be on him. It took us a while to really establish the relationship, but before that even happened, we had a fragile connection.”

“Did it hurt?” Peter asks softly, and Natasha tilts her head.

“It didn’t for the first few times for my part. I was used to detachment and running away, so for me it was just another normal thing to happen. I mean I thought, sure the guy could have been good, but it can’t work, so,” Natasha shrugs. “But I found out sooner that it did hurt Steve a lot, even in those first few times. Might have something to do with how soft your Captain is at heart,” Peter chuckles. “And when I found that out, how much it hurt him, I found myself also hurting whenever an off comes in. After that, we really tried our best to work through and establish ourselves, and I guess it worked—seeing as we’re still married and all.” Natasha grins and Peter smiles widely.

“What helped you and Cap? You know, in those rough times?” Peter asks.

“Friends mostly. For me, it was Pepper, Sharon and Maria, and for Steve, it was Bucky, Sam and Tony. For the most part, they allowed us to be distracted from the hurt, and the fact that we yet again failed at another attempt to a real relationship, but soon, they became tougher on us—really giving us real talks on what we really wanted, how we should work on it, and giving us the push to never give up,” Natasha says, and smiles at Peter. “Maybe you could be that friend to Ned if you want to.”

Peter nods, as if taking in and digesting what Natasha had said. “Ned was like that with me when it comes to MJ.” he says, and Natasha smiles.

“Maybe you could be like that too with him and Betty if you want, and if he wants, of course,” Natasha says, and Peter nods and smiles. “And speaking of MJ, how are the two of you?” Peter laughs softly, and he begins to recount his story of his earlier lunch date with MJ, and all the dates they’ve had for the last week he may have forgotten to tell Natasha.

James begins to babble, burying his face on Natasha’s chest and she chuckles as she continues to listen to Peter’s animated stories. He even stood up so he can properly show and demonstrate his story, making Natasha laugh softly. She shifts James in her arms so the baby is resting his head on her shoulder, his face buried in the crook of her neck. James lets out a small gurgle as Natasha rubs on his back soothingly.

“And I’m boring James, aren’t I?” Peter asks, and Natasha laughs softly, looking down at her son.

“He’s just sleepy, he missed his nap earlier,” Natasha says softly. “And you’re about the least person he would be bored with the way you tell your stories, маленький паук.”

Peter’s face lights up and he begins to tell a story of how he used to babysit other kids and tell him stories that way so they would behave and wouldn’t get bored. Natasha laughs, telling him that maybe when James is old enough, he can babysit James.

“I don’t know how to take care of super enhanced babies.” Peter says teasingly, and Natasha laughs softly.

“Please stop referring to my son as a super enhanced baby. And you should be nice to him, young man, he’s like your little brother.” Natasha says, winking, and she is rewarded with a wide and soft smile from Peter.

“I’ll teach him how to climb ceilings so he can escape in the middle of the night to be with his friends.” Peter teases and Natasha raises an eyebrow, failing to suppress a grin.

“Not if you can find him first. Clint called dibs first in teaching my son how to build a nest in the vents.” Natasha says, and Peter laughs, sitting back down on his chair. He leans forward to give James’ small foot a light squeeze.

“You’ll be a great mom to him, Nat.” Peter says softly, smiling up at her. Natasha’s heart actually flutters, and normally, she wouldn’t care less about how others would think about her being a mother—whether it be a compliment or not—but this was coming from Peter, one of the few people whom she cared for when it comes to their opinion. Peter, who had become like her own son before she had her own. So it’s different, and it’s a big deal to be told that.

“You think?” Natasha asks softly, and Peter nods quickly, a big grin forming on his face.

“You are to me, and I’m not even your son. I could only imagine how you’ll be with James.” Peter says, and Natasha smiles, pressing James closer to her chest.

“Thank you, маленький паук.” Natasha says, and Peter grins, before he proceeds to tell another one of his stories again. Natasha smiles and listens, cuddling James closer to her chest as her heart continues to flutter for the family she has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title means "little spider" in Russian.
> 
> And just a little plug: I've uploaded a new work called "State of Grace", a multi-chapter work where I'm filling in some missing scenes before and after the Time Heist in Endgame, mostly from the perspective of Steve, Natasha and little James (because yes, the work is also a "what-if-James-was-canon-in-the-MCU" kind of thing). Please go check it out in my profile too!
> 
> And don't forget to review, leave kudos and share it to your friends!


	10. Whatever It Takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10\. Where they almost reached the brink of the end of their love.
> 
> "And he is in pain, deep pain that had struck him just now after feeling nothing. Now, as she looks into his eyes, she sees the eyes of the man she had left for Tony’s side almost eight years ago, sees the man who lost his best friend when he decided to go back to cryo, sees the man who thought lost his son as well in the Snap. She sees the man who briefly looked at her those nights ago when she told him she couldn’t do it anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to make this one significantly less happier than the others before, but I had to. I did promise some drama, right? So here's just one of them that I made. :)
> 
> I've made references to my earlier work "A Multiverse of Romanoff and Rogers" in this oneshot, but you don't have to read it to understand it, though I still suggest you do because it's a pretty damn good work if I say so myself. ;) And I based this one on the scene in Endgame where Steve dropped by to give Natasha a visit in the Tower. Hope it works! And if you guys are suckers for Endgame remakes and missing scenes, my latest work "State of Grace" will address all of those. Check it out if you guys are up for it!
> 
> Anyway, enough about me, enjoy!

“I’d offer to cook you dinner,” She lifts her head from her hands and sees him leaning against the shelf, his jacket flung over one arm, and his bike keys in another. He gives her a rueful smile. “But you seem pretty miserable already.”

She takes a deep breath and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. She smiles tightly at him, the best she can muster. “Here to do your laundry?” she asks.

“Came to see a friend.”

_ Friend _ . She laughs bitterly at that. After everything they have gone through, after all the hardships and battles they have won over together, in the end, she was reduced to a friend. Even after sharing vows with their friends as witnesses, and even after raising a child together, she just became a friend. And it hurts hearing it, hurts admitting it.

But then again, so was he, and she can see the same pain in his glistening eyes.

“Clearly your friend is fine.” she replies, and Steve looks down at his feet, juggling his keys between both of his hands.

“You know I saw a pod of whales when I was coming up the bridge.”

“In the Hudson?” Natasha asks, nodding, as she leans back in her chair and rests her head, looking up at the ceiling.

“There’s fewer ships, cleaner water…”

“You know, if you’re about to tell me to look on the bright side…” she trails off, now finding herself unable to get rid of the tears gathering in her eyes, because who was she kidding? There is  _ no _ bright side. She looks back at him and forms a tight smile. "I'm about to hit you in the head with a peanut butter sandwich."

Steve doesn’t laugh at that, but he does shake his head, and a ghost of a smile forms on his lips. “Sorry,” he adds softly, walking over to the chair across his wife... _ ex-wife _ ?  _ No, _ he thinks.  _ That’s pathetic _ . “Force of habit.”

He lays his jacket on the table and sits down in front of her with a sigh. Natasha pushes the plate of half-eaten peanut butter sandwich over to him, and leans back down in her chair.

And it’s different, seeing him now after a couple of days. She rarely sees him like this, in front of her, willing to speak to her,  _ actually _ speaking to her. She barely recognizes him anymore, this hollow shell of a man who keeps on looking older every time she sees him. She barely sees the man she fell in love with all those years ago anymore, much less the man she had married six years prior, and had a son with as well. He must have been taken away during the Snap too.

_ If you’re about to tell me to look on the bright side _ , she had said.  _ There isn’t any _ , she wanted to say, and he knows that. He knows that too, because as he looks up at her, he barely recognizes her too, this hollow shell of a woman who was once fierce and strong, but now spends most of her free time just crying and working until she passes out. But since nightmares pass just as normally as how the sun rises and sets, she barely gets any decent sleep, making her look older and appear more hollow on the outside as well. He barely sees the woman she fell in love with all those years ago anymore, much less the woman he had married six years prior, and had a son with as well. She must have been taken away during the Snap too. Both of them.

Maybe it’s why they couldn’t work anymore.

“James with Tony?” he asks, and she nods, swallowing and unable to speak.  _ He’s more capable _ , she wants to say.  _ He’s more whole, and he could take care of him better than I can _ , she wants to add.  _ Better than both of us. _ He sighs, as if he understands, and nods. “It’s better this way.”

Natasha raises a hand and rests the tip of her fingers to her lips. “What is?” she asks quietly, her voice breaking at the end as more tears gather in her eyes, because she needs to know: What  _ is _ better this way? Their broken marriage? This separation that disabled them to take care of their son properly by themselves because of how badly Thanos had broken them too? This separation that led to their inability to look each other in the eye without crying or breaking down?

This broken relationship that inevitably led to their inability to hold on to each other?

He doesn’t answer, and he isn’t quite looking at her either. She follows where he is looking, and sees that the light must have been caught in the ring that she’s still wearing on her left ring finger. She doesn’t remove it, even if they had agreed to be separated, and are in the process of filing a divorce.

A divorce,  _ God, _ even that leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, as her eyes flicker to one of the drawers in her desk.

_ But it needs to be done _ , she thinks, and he follows the same thought process as she. It needs to be done, or they will just end up as complete shells of the people they used to be, just further hurting the other with their absence and inability to ground themselves back, ground the  _ other _ back. They put in so much effort to put up a show, a  _ face _ for James to recognize, and that in itself is draining enough to show another face to each other.

They’re just too tired, and they just couldn’t do this anymore.

She puts her hand down and rests it on her arm, and he looks back at her. “You know, I keep telling everybody they should move on, grow. Some do,” he pauses and sighs. “But not us.” _ Not us _ .

Natasha shakes her head, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “If I move on, who does this?”  _ This _ , finding a way to reverse the Snap.  _ This _ , keeping the remaining members of the Avengers together.  _ This _ , keeping an eye on Clint who had gone as a rogue killer in revenge for his family. 

_ This _ , holding on to brink of hope with her pinky, with every nerve in her body telling her to give up because she’s just tired.

“Maybe it doesn’t need to be done.” he finally says, and she stares at his eyes. His eyes had always been so blue, so beautiful, the color of the ocean which she loved the most. She still sees the beauty of it when she looks at his eyes, even amidst the hollowness she sees behind it. She still sees pieces of  _ him _ that is in there, and she wants to reach through it, reach through  _ him _ .  _ God _ , she wants her husband back. She wants him back, and she sees him, but she’s too far out and she’s too tired to reach and grasp and pull him out. She doesn’t know how long she can last if she does it, and even when she does, she’s sure that it would be  _ her _ turn to fall into a pit if she wasn’t even already there. If she falls, she won’t know if he’d be as willing as her to pull her out.

And so in the end, it won’t work. It won’t work even if a small portion of her still wants it to.

That’s the thing that scares her, too: the small portion who's willing to work it out even if she thinks it’s helpless, even if she thinks he’s not willing to fight for her in the same way anymore. The small portion grows bigger every time she sees the beautiful blueness of his eyes that are also mirrored by their son, and she’s scared of it because she couldn’t escape it. She’s scared that this  _ want _ will soon turn into an aching need that will continue to consume her if she doesn’t do anything about it.

“Do you really believe that?” she asks softly, and it’s enough for a tear to escape her eyes. She doesn’t bother wiping it, and she sees him close his eyes, as tears finally fall down his cheeks. She takes a shaky breath, her fingernails digging in her flesh.

“I don’t want to,” he responds softly, and his lower lip quivers, as he takes a sharp shaky breath. “But I don’t know how to anymore. I don’t know how to  _ not _ believe in it anymore.”

_ So that’s it _ , she thinks.  _ It doesn’t need to be done, he said _ . So Natasha nods, and she feels the corners of her mouth turning downward, more tears flowing down her cheeks. She removes her feet off the table and leans down to open one of the drawers. With a shaky breath, she pulls out a folder and rests it on the desk, and she sees Steve’s expression contort into an expression of further pain, his eyes allowing a few more tears to fall silently, and his mouth frowning.

“Your lawyer came by. They’ve processed it, even said it was one of the easiest divorces he’d seen,” she says quietly, and she clears her throat. “Since there aren’t any court hearings because of the pre-arrangements thanks to Tony, this should be smoother than other divorces, he said. Polly called, and she said the same.” She chuckles quietly. “Good to know we made things easier for the divorce lawyers, hm? You picked good ones too.”

He was the one who suggested it, a few weeks back, when they’ve finally come to the conclusion of ending it. He’d been the one to first come up to a lawyer named Lucas, who was part of his group therapy sessions, and asked his help for the process. Lucas referred Polly, his colleague, to Natasha, and they’d been communicating too. But they didn’t need to communicate much, neither did Steve and Lucas. They just needed the legal help for the divorce to come through, after all, it’s not a complicated process. No court hearings, just signing of documents to completely dissolve their marriage.

Lucas came in earlier in the day when Steve was out, asking her to review the terms, and if they were up for it, sign it too.  _ It’s that simple _ , Lucas had told her with a shrug. What he doesn’t know is that it’s  _ not _ as simple as either lawyers make it seem.

It’s hard. It’s difficult, as if the many years they have spent as best friends, partners and lovers had meant nothing. So of course, it breaks her heart. Of course, it’s not that simple.

She looks at him now as he stares at the folder, that hollowness inside Steve slowly being filled up by a sad man,  _ just _ a sad and pained man who clearly didn’t want this, clearly still loved his family, but just simply can’t do it anymore. After five years of trying to work through this grief that drew a chasm in their relationship and drifted them apart, she knows he’s sure it’s impossible to take this any further, to try anymore at all.

_ It’s done _ .

“Do you want this?” he asks her softly, and she then chokes out a sob, pressing a hand on her mouth as if to prevent any more sobs from escaping. She closes her eyes momentarily and takes a deep breath. “Do you really want this?”

She takes another shaky breath. “You know I don’t,” she replies quietly, honestly, and all she feels is  _ pain _ . Sheer, blinding pain that makes her  _ feel _ after feeling  _ nothing _ for so long because as he asks her if she wants it, she finally,  _ finally _ sees him breaking out of hollowness, but maybe it’s too late.  _ Too late _ . “But I don’t know what to do anymore.”

And it probably did the same for him, because as she looks back at him, she doesn’t see a shell of a man anymore. She sees him,  _ him _ , not just pieces of him anymore, but  _ him _ , her husband, the father of her son, who is looking right  _ at _ her as if finally, after five years,  _ he _ sees  _ her  _ too. After years of looking past her, he  _ finally _ looks at her, and for once,  _ really _ sees her, as  _ she  _ sees  _ him _ , after spending years looking past him.

And he is in pain, deep pain that had struck him just now after feeling nothing. Now, as she looks into his eyes, she sees the eyes of the man she had left for Tony’s side almost eight years ago, sees the man who lost his best friend when he decided to go back to cryo, sees the man who thought lost his son as well in the Snap.

She sees the man who briefly looked at her those nights ago when she told him she couldn’t do it anymore.

She thought that was the last she’d seen of him, even if the last time was simply a glimpse, but he’s here now. He’s here now, and it  _ hurts _ , because the process only grew harder.

“Not this,” he says softly, pushing the folder away. “Not this, definitely not this.”

“Steve—”

“We’re not doing this.”

“Steve,  _ please— _ ” She closes her eyes as more tears flow down her face.  _ I’m tired _ , she wants to say.  _ It hurts, _ she thinks.

“Do you remember what I told you? During our wedding, what I promised you?” he asks, and she opens her eyes and blinks, because  _ of course _ she remembers, she remembers everything. She remembers, yet she never stopped to think of it.

What was it that he said, the most memorable line that had been etched in her heart since?

_ When I admitted to falling in love with you, I started counting time based on you _ , he had said.

“And every time I would try to start counting time again, whether backwards or upwards, I would fail, because counting just makes things end, and I never... _ never _ wanted us to end,” he recites, and tears fall from his eyes as he does. She lets out a soft sob, as if she were hearing it for the first time again. “I promise to love you, with every fiber of my being, and to let you know that through every way I can everyday.”

To which her response to that was a line that had been etched in his own heart as well.

_ I learned about love, real, intense, overwhelming and overflowing love from Steve Rogers, who has held my heart ever since and still continues to hold it until now _ , she said.

“And when you finally told me that you loved me all those nights ago, I knew right away that maybe... _ maybe _ I was made to love you, and perhaps I was worthy of receiving love,” she recites softly, and a few tears fall from her eyes as well. “I promise to do whatever it takes to let you know how much I love you, and to tell you that every day, and show you in every way I can.”

She lets out a small sob as the tears on Steve’s eyes become warmer, flowing more and more as each second passes. “Whatever it takes.” she repeats.

And Steve nods. “Whatever it takes.” he whispers.

She doesn’t really know who got up first, or who made the first move, but the next thing she knows, she’s crashing in his arms as she sobs against his chest, and he’s wrapping his arms tightly around her, as if trying his best, with the littlest energy and hope he has left in him, to keep her together, prevent her from falling further apart. She feels safe in his arms, never foreign but rather natural, even when it had been a long time since the last time she was in his arms. She sags, until she felt like her legs are slowly giving up on her. She feels him sitting down on the chair she had been occupying, pulling her to his lap, as she buries her face in his chest, grabbing his shirt and just sobbing.

And he does the same. He sobs as he presses soft kisses on her head, on every inch he can find on her head, on her hair, and on the small amount of surface of her forehead that’s exposed.

“I love you,” he sobs against her hair, still kissing her head albeit sloppily. “I love you. I love you, Nat. I love you.” He hears her sob harder, and he continues to murmur the same things over and over, as if like a prayer, a  _ hushed _ prayer that he tries to deliver despite tears of his own. He cradles her as he cries against her vanilla-scented hair, and  _ God _ did he miss the scent, did he miss  _ her _ in his arms. And boy, did it feel  _ so _ right to hold her once again. He pulls her closer, closer to his body, but even when there’s no more space between them, he still feels that she’s too far. He allows her to bury her face on his chest, as she used to do every night when she has nightmares or when she was upset. He presses his lips on her hair as he sobs.

“Don’t go,” he hears her sob. “Don’t go, Steve, don’t go. I…” She sobs harder against his chest, crumpling his shirt in her fists. “I love you. I love you, Steve, please don’t go.”

“I won’t,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on the side of her head. “I won’t, okay? I won’t. I’m here. I’m here, and I love you. I love you, okay?”

“Don’t give up,” she whispers, sniffling and failing to stifle yet another sob. “Don’t give up on me, please? Don’t give up on us.”

He presses another kiss on her hair, as more tears flow from his eyes, and he feels his chest ache and constrict, because how  _ could _ he give up on her? How could he ever think of giving up on  _ them _ ? “I won’t,” he tells her firmly, yet somehow still softly. “I  _ won’t _ , okay? Never. You hear me, Nat? Never giving up.”

And he holds her,  _ her _ , the woman he finally recognizes as his wife, the woman whom he fell in love with all those years ago and never stopped, the woman who is the mother of his son. She is crumbling now, upset, heartbroken, hurt and crying in his arms, but she is still the same strong woman he met more than a decade ago. He sees her again, and he just knows she sees him too.

How could they not have seen each other in the last five years?

And they spent the rest of the night like that, holding each other in their arms, pressing soft and lazy kisses on anywhere and everywhere they can find on the other’s bodies. Neither of them let go, as both of them promise to hold on. Hold on to their love, to hope, to each other.

Whatever it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, comments and kudos very much appreciated! Also, I do update pretty fast since I really take advantage of free times, and AO3 (and writing) has become my new form of relaxation from work. Hope you guys also appreciate fast updates! <3
> 
> Go check out "State of Grace" for more sad works!


	11. The Red Room's Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11\. Where Natasha received the best gift of redemption.
> 
> "She chuckles at the irony and the failure of the KGB. She was the best of her class, their Black Widow. They tried making her the perfect assassin, but they failed in every aspect of it. The Red Room's failure, as she likes to put it. When the Red Room thought they made a perfect killer out of her, they failed, and she grinned at the thought."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember if this prompt was a suggestion or a request, but anyway, here it is! It feels good to write something fluffy again after writing angsty and dramatic chapters/oneshots. Hope this one puts a smile on your face!
> 
> Enjoy!

She was on her own when she found out.

Steve had gone to Belvianes-et-Cavirac, a small community in Southern France, where Wanda and Vision were staying, and Sam had met up with him along the way. She was supposed to come, but she wasn’t feeling well,  _ hadn’t _ been feeling well for the last week. They are staying in a small apartment in Ordino in Andorra because they figured it would be one of the safest countries they can lay low until they can figure out a plan. Andorra is nice, and the people are friendly, but not  _ too _ friendly that they are still able to isolate themselves in their own world without anybody having to notice anything suspicious about them. Besides, Andorra didn’t participate in the Accords, so they’re on neutral territory.

So when she told Steve she wouldn’t join them, she hadn’t been worried at the very least. Andorra is near France, and if things go according to plan, Steve could easily come back home to her.

But of course, it hadn’t been easy convincing Steve that she was fine. She’d been throwing up in the last couple of days, and have been increasingly picky with the food she eats because any smell of the wrong kind of food can make her throw up. She’d also been fatigued, easily tired even in their leisurely walks and morning runs, to which she attributed it to just a lack of proper training.

“I can call it off, tell Sam he can go ahead and we can follow until you get better,” Steve told her when he pulled her hair out of her face, watching helplessly as she slumped against the bathroom wall. He reached up to flush the toilet and gave her tissues so she can wipe her mouth and the tears in her eyes. “It’s food poisoning, I know it.”

“No, Steve, they need you,” she said, even though every fiber of her being wanted to beg for her boyfriend to stay with her, protect her and take care of her. “Wanda and Vision, they need you for their next move. And neither you and Sam can go alone, you  _ have _ to be together.”

“But  _ you’re _ gonna be alone,” he pointed out, and he sounded genuinely upset at the thought. “Nat, it’s okay. I can tell Wanda and Vision maybe we can delay it.”

“Steve, there’s no time, and you know it.”

Which was true. Sharon had given word to both Steve and Natasha through the burner phone Steve gave her that Ross detected their movements in Europe, but he had yet to confirm  _ where _ , and that he also put Vision on his hit list since he became affiliated with Wanda. Tony was out of the investigations, that much Sharon told them, saying he knew about the Raft breakout but kept quiet about it. That was two days prior to their supposed departure for France, but they needed a plan, and once they did, they had to run immediately.

But yeah, Natasha hadn’t been feeling all too well since Sharon gave them the intel.

“I can take care of myself.” she said firmly, cupping Steve’s cheek with her hand.

“But you don’t have to.”

“ _ Steve _ ,” And her look should’ve been enough to make him back down, but this was Steve Rogers she was dealing with, a man who’s as stubborn, if not more, and hard-headed as her. So she sighed. “If something really bad happens, I’ll call. I promise that much.”

And it was enough to make him go. So after a lengthy goodbye, with Steve telling her over and over again to call him if anything remotely inconvenient happens to her, he went, and she was alone.

And she made her way to a small nearby hospital two days after, because she knew, contrary to what Steve thought, this wasn’t food poisoning. She knew better, and even as she knew it, she was still firm in what she believed was impossible because she knew what the Red Room had done to her body. She knew how they manipulated and played with her body so they can ensure she’ll be the perfect, ruthless killer she ended up being. Which is why she had accepted it in her that even though she had defected, and started to build a life for herself, despite the changes she’ll force in her life, she can never,  _ ever _ be a mother.

And as she became romantically involved with Steve, as they started building a life together, that hurt her most of all.

But she had been unable to keep it out of her mind that same week Steve thought she was suffering from food poisoning. Her breasts became more tender and started hurting a little, especially when they made love and Steve would put his hands on her. She thought she might have added a little weight since she couldn’t close the buttons of her skintight jeans anymore, so she resorted to wearing her yoga pants instead. She knew the symptoms, and she knew it well enough that she was aware she was having the symptoms of an expecting mother. She didn’t need a pregnancy test, didn’t  _ want _ a pregnancy test because it was either she was or wasn’t, and she needed to be sure if she was either.

She was greeted by a small raven-haired nurse, and spoke to her in Catalan, a language in which she had learned as a spy, and explained to her that she wanted an ultrasound, because she had suspicions that she was pregnant. She was introduced to a doctor, a much older woman, friendly, who asked for her details.

_Ainoa Oriol_, she said, presenting her fake ID. The doctor—Costa, Doctor Costa—smiled at her, observing her blonde hair, and explained how apt it was that her last name was meant for people who had blonde hair like her. Ainoa is thirty-two years old, single and living alone. She was sterilized, but it’s possible it failed, she said, thus she has irregular period. She just moved in to Ordino from Encamp a week ago for a fresh start. _A_ _ busive boyfriend _ , she said, finding an excuse immediately to possibly beg the doctor to delete the existing files afterwards. _He might find me,_ she said, to which the doctor believed and agreed with a sympathetic and pitied smile, not even suspecting that everything that her patient had said were all lies.

Everything about her was a lie, but there’s one thing that’s probably not, but then again, she’s yet to find out.

And they proceeded with the ultrasound, Natasha lying down tentatively on the bed and lifting her shirt. She closed her eyes as she cool gel came in contact with her skin, and Costa started the ultrasound.

_ “There it is,” _ Costa said, speaking in Catalan, and Natasha opened her eyes.  _ “You are about five weeks along, from what I can tell.” _

_ “Five weeks?” _ she repeated, and Costa nodded.  _ Five weeks _ , she’d been pregnant for five weeks.

_ “Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” _ She did, and the sound filled the small room, filling her eyes with tears, and it was beautiful. There’s a child growing inside of her. She was pregnant, actually pregnant.

Pregnant with Steve’s child.

She’s going to be a mother.

She asked for two copies of the ultrasound, and immediately asked Costa to delete the files before she paid and ducked out of the hospital.

So here she is, alone, reeling with nervousness and excitement because of what she just found out. She is holding her phone in one hand, and a photo of her ultrasound—a first photo of her baby—in the other. She contemplates calling Steve, telling him to come home, but she thought of Wanda and Vision, and their need to provide a solid plan so they can get away safely. Their safety is important, more urgent, this can wait. This can.

Can it?

Her eyes start filling with tears. She needs Steve. She needs him to tell her it’s going to be okay, that despite their living conditions and their current situation, they can do this, they can protect their child, they will be a normal family. She needs him to tell her that he loves her all the same, even if she put them in a difficult situation by being pregnant with a child. Their situation is no situation for a child, and this baby—Captain America’s, Steve Rogers’ baby—deserves better than being on a constant run.

She puts her phone down and lays a hand on her belly. It’s still flat, but she knows life is growing inside of it, inside of  _ her _ . When she thought the sole purpose of her body was to take away life, she turned herself around and instead, her body is now creating life, nurturing life,  _ loving _ life.

She chuckles at the irony and the failure of the KGB. She was the best of her class, their Black Widow. They tried making her the perfect assassin, but they failed in every aspect of it.

_The Red Room's failure_, as she likes to put it. When the Red Room thought they made a perfect killer out of her, they failed, and she grinned at the thought.

A tear slips as she looks down at the photo of her ultrasound. “Мой ребенок.”  _ My baby, _ she whispers. She smiles and smooths her belly. Somehow, despite the situation they are in, there is light and there is hope. This baby, this  _ miracle _ that she and Steve had created, is their light, their sign that they should continue to hold on to hope.

“I love you, мое маленькое чудо,”  _ I love you, my little miracle _ , she says. “Mommy and Daddy both do.”

She goes on to cook herself dinner while she hums, and while she murmurs to herself, but mostly it’s for the baby. So she talks to the baby, because that’s what mothers do, right? Laura certainly did, she remembered, while pregnant with Cooper, and with Lila, and with Nathaniel, she talked to them and sang to them too, and that’s what she did all evening.

Later that night, after taking a shower, she lays back down on the bed and grabs her cell phone, dialing Steve’s burner phone where Sharon told her has a secure line, allowing her to call freely. She prays that this isn’t a bad time, that wherever they are, they are okay, and they are fine. She hears the phone ring once...twice…

“Hello?”

Hearing his voice only made her smile more. “Steve,” she breathes. “It’s...it’s Nat.”

“Yeah, hey, sweetheart,” he says softly, and she’s sure she can hear the smile lacing through his voice. “How are you? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s...everything’s okay,” she says softly. “What about you? How’s the situation there?”

“We found a place in Edinburgh, might be safe for Wanda and Vis to move in,” he replies. “They’ll be moving tomorrow. I’m...I’m supposed to come with them, me and Sam. Is that...is it okay? I mean, it’s just for more security purposes, but it’s secondary really, I can...I can go back.”

For once, Natasha wants to be selfish. She needs him, she needs Steve. If Steve’s presence is second priority for them, then they’d be fine. She’s not being selfish, right? “I...I need you to come back.” she says.

“Is everything okay?” She hears the urgency in his voice, and she can imagine him sitting up, frowning, furrowing his eyebrows. “I can go now. I can go now, Nat, but...what’s wrong? Are you still sick?”

“No, no,” she chuckles lightly. “No, come home tomorrow when they start moving, make sure they’re okay now.” She smiles a little. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. I just...I just need you to come home, okay? Will you trust me on that?”

“Nat…” he trails off, and she can hear the hesitation in his voice. “I can go now.”

“It’s late now, and you’re going to catch me asleep. I need my rest too,” she says lightly. “And so do you.”

“I can’t rest now you’re telling me to come home,” She hears some shuffling in the other line. “It’s a two and a half hour drive, sweetheart. I just...let me come tonight, okay?”

It’s probably her fault for making him feel on edge, but she couldn’t deny that she wants to see him, to tell him now. She needs to let it out, to share this joy that she’s harboring inside, that’s  _ growing _ inside of her. “Okay,” she relents softly. “Tell Wanda, Vis and Sam I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Steve tells her. “I’ll be there in a few hours, okay? Wait for me.”

_She always will._ “Okay,” she replies. “I love you, Steve.”

“I love you too, Nat. I’ll see you, alright?”

And so she sighs, putting her phone back on the nightstand and smoothing her belly again. “Guess we’ll tell your father about you tonight since he can’t wait,” she says softly, smiling. “If you come out as impatient as your father, then God help me, you better not, little one.”

She stands and moves herself to the living room, grabbing a book and opening the television for the background noise. She turns the pages, but she doesn’t read, instead letting her mind wander on the little child growing inside of her. Will it be a boy, or a girl? Either is fine, and she’ll love them either way. Will it grow up to look like Steve, with blonde hair and blue eyes, or just like her, with red fiery hair and green eyes? Or perhaps a combination of both of them, and she smiles because she can imagine a little boy with red hair and blue eyes running around their small apartment, or perhaps a little girl with blonde hair and green eyes dancing around on the floor with her parents.

She hopes that they’ll grow up good and strong. She prays that she and Steve will do a great job in raising them, helping them learn to be good and have a heart for the world. Despite everything, despite  _ this _ situation they are in, they will make it right.

Make it right for them.

She doesn’t even notice the hours pass by, but then she hears the knob of the door turning, and when she looks up, she sees Steve, his duffle bag hung on his shoulder and he looks relieved to see her at home.

“You made it.” Natasha whispers, and Steve smiles, closing the door behind him. He drops the bag, going over to the couch and kneeling down in front of her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her.

“Of course I did,” he replies softly, kissing her again. “When my best girl asks me to come home, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“If you count three hours as a heartbeat then sure.” she teases and Steve chuckles, kissing her again.

_ This is it, _ she thinks,  _ I can tell him right now. _

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, inspecting her face as he cups her cheeks, brushing the apple of her cheeks with his thumbs gently. “Do you still feel sick?”

“I still do,” she says, and then she smiles. “But I know why now.”

Steve has a confused expression on his face, until Natasha takes out the photo that she tucked at the back of the book, giving it to Steve. “I went to the hospital earlier, because...because I had my suspicions, and I didn’t think it was possible,” she says, and she smiles when Steve furrows his eyebrows at the photo. Natasha chuckles. “This circle thing right here...” She smiles. "The small bean."

“The small bean?” Steve asks, confused, and Natasha laughs softly.

“The small bean,” she repeats. “Is our baby.” Steve looks up at her, his eyes wide, and his lips slightly apart. “I’m pregnant, Steve. We’re gonna have a baby.”

Steve’s mouth slowly turns upward, and in the low light of their small living room, Natasha can see the tears glistening in his eyes. “A baby,” he whispers, and his smile is growing wider. “A baby. We’re…” He looks back at the photo again, and a tear escapes from his eyes. He laughs softly and looks back up at Natasha. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

“We are.” she says, nodding, her smile widening. Steve laughs softly again.

“We’re gonna be parents,” he whispers, and Natasha nods again. “We’re gonna be parents, Nat. You and me, we’re going to be parents. Oh God...I didn't think it was possible. You said...the Red Room, they..."

Natasha shakes her head, and she is unable to wipe the smile off her face. She lifts a hand to caress his cheek gently. "Neither did I," she admits softly. "But we’re gonna have a baby, and it's real, Steve. The Red Room failed." It feels good saying it, feels good repeating it. The monsters that haunted her childhood, and haunted her in her nightmares even as she grew older, they _failed__._

Steve leans up and captures her lips once again, and she kisses him back with the same passion. Steve moves to sit on the couch beside Natasha and he pulls her closer. She giggles against his mouth as she drapes her legs over his, and his arm wraps around her waist, and his hand resting on her belly.

_ Their baby, an evidence of the Red Room's failure. _

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, kissing her again softly once, then twice. He smiles against her mouth. “Thank you. Oh God, Nat, we’re going to be parents and... _ wow _ , this is just wonderful.”

Natasha nods and giggles softly, running her hand through his hair and pulling him in closer to kiss him again. “The most wonderful thing ever,” she says softly. _A second chance, a life growing out of her._ Both of which are given to her by the man she loves, _truly_ loves. “I love you, Steve.”

“I love you,” he replies, smiling. He opens his eyes at her and she smiles when she sees his blue eyes, those beautiful blue eyes still glistening and sparkling with happy tears. “I love you so much, both of you. I love you both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *plugs State of Grace again* Check out my profile for the rest of my works!
> 
> Reviews, kudos and comments appreciated!


	12. The Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12\. Natasha gives birth to her and Steve's son.
> 
> "And when he looks back at his wife, he sees Natasha watching them, a small and fond smile on her face, which widens when she catches his eye. He pauses, and smiles wider, marveling for a moment at how beautiful she is. Even as she’s tired, and her eyes are droopy and she’s about to fall asleep any second now, she’s still beautiful, and she gets more beautiful as time passes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one for fluff! Hope you guys enjoy!

She smiles at the baby sleeping in her arms, allowing her fingers to run through the thick patch of soft red hair on his head. She leans down and inhales his scent. He smells of milk, but she supposed that it’s only natural he does since she just fed him an hour ago. She presses a soft and light kiss on his forehead, then on his small and closed fists under his chin. His eyes are shut, and his small lips puckered, and she wonders what he’s dreaming about, or if he is at all.

It amazes her, just looking at him.

“Hey,” She looks up from her bed and smiles. “Got held up a bit. I ran into Queen Ramonda, told me to tell you congratulations, and that she’d visit tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” Natasha replies softly. Steve smiles and walks over to the bed, where she inches sideways to make room for him. He slides down on the bed beside her and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to place a kiss on the side of her head. She hums lightly.

“He’s so tiny,” she says softly, and he smiles. “And so fragile. Never thought this is the baby that used to kick hard inside me just a couple of nights ago.”

He chuckles softly as he places a hand to rest on his head— _ his son’s _ head. He smiles widely at the thought. He has a son now, they both do. They created a life amidst the chaos of the Accords, and their team breaking up, and them being global fugitives. They created a beautiful baby boy, and he is here in his wife’s—his beautiful wife’s—arms.

“Bet he’d grow up to be big and strong.” he replies quietly, and she looks up at him and smiles. Her smile is tired, after going into labor merely two hours ago and giving birth to their son, but her smile is genuine and so beautiful. He runs a hand through her hair and wipes away the sweat that had gathered on the edge of her hairline.

“Like his Daddy,” she says softly, and she looks back down at their sleeping son. “But I don’t want him to grow up yet. Not yet.” She presses a soft kiss again on his forehead. “If he could be a baby forever, I won’t complain.”

Steve chuckles. “Getting our son to be a Mama’s boy already, hm?” he teases softly and she laughs softly. “I was a Mama’s boy myself. I think it’s a Rogers men kind of thing.” He grins and she smiles up at him, but it quickly fades.

“You think he’ll like me?” she asks softly, and in a small voice, as if she’s afraid to ask. Steve furrows his eyebrows and pulls her closer to him.

“Of course he will,” he replies. “He’s our baby. Why wouldn’t he?”

Natasha shrugs, and tears start pooling in her eyes. He raises his hands to wipe the spots under her eyes gently with his thumbs and she smiles up at him. “I don’t know,” she replies softly. “I’ve never had a Mom, never remembered having one.” She sighs. “And I don’t know how to be one. I’ve watched Laura with the kids, and she’s a good mother but…” she trails off and shakes her head. “She must have learned it from her mother, and...I didn’t have that.”

Steve shakes his head and strokes her cheek gently with the back of his hand. “I don’t think  _ not _ having one means you’ll be bad,” he says softly. “And I don’t see how you can be bad, Nat. You’re a natural. Even with dealing with Barton’s kids. They love you.”

“I’m their Auntie Nat,” she replies. “It’s different.”

“Not necessarily,” he offers, smiling a little. “You know, I grew up with a good mother. My Ma...she was amazing, and I think I turned out well enough to say that she really  _ did _ a great job even if she was a single mother.” He smiles, and Natasha nods, smiling as well. “And everyday I see her in you, Nat. Not exactly in how she treated me, I can’t say that yet since we only had our son, what, a few hours ago.” Natasha chuckles softly. “But in the way you treat others. The way you show your love to Wanda, and Bucky and Sam when we were on the run. The way you hold Wanda through her nightmares and stay with her until she feels better. The way you care so much for Bucky whenever he gets his episodes, and with Sam especially when he goes out on solo missions of his own.” Steve smiles and kisses the side of her head. “And the way you loved me and cared for me. You love in such a way that it’s all  _ you _ , yet somehow you still remind me of my mother. And I think that’s saying something.”

“What, that you see me as your mother? Did I get the wrong signals all this time, Rogers?”

Steve laughs softly and shakes his head, and Natasha smirks. “You know what I mean,” he says softly, and Natasha smiles softly. “Our son’s going to be a lucky boy with a mother like you.”

“Could never do it without you, though,” she says softly. “You’d be a good father, Steve, and if there’s one thing I’m really  _ really _ sure of, it’s that.”

Steve smiles. “You think?”

She nods, and grins. “I think he’ll like you better than me, but it’s fine,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder as she looks down at their son in her arms. “I won’t take it against him. If I were him, I’d like you better than me.”

“Nat…”

“It’s not meant to be a deprecating comment, Steve, I mean it,” she says softly, chuckling as she looks up at him. “Remember what I said in our wedding? I learned love through  _ you _ , felt  _ real  _ love because of  _ you _ . I want our son to experience that from you too.”

He feels tears welling up in his eyes as he leans down to press a kiss on her lips. He presses another kiss on her forehead and she hums, smiling as she closes her eyes at the feel of his lips on her forehead.

The baby stirs awake in her arms, and she straightens herself up as she looks down at their baby. He opens his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes that mirror his father’s, and blinks several times as he looks at Natasha’s face. She grins, leaning down to press a light kiss on the tip of his nose, and the newborn just flails his arms to touch his mother’s face.

“Hey, little guy,” she greets softly. “Sleep well? Did Mommy and Daddy wake you up?”

Steve holds one of the newborn’s fists, and as if it’s automatic that he wraps his small hand around his thumb, bringing it to his mouth with all his strength. Steve chuckles.

“Hungry again, buddy?” he asks, and the newborn raises his eyes slowly to look at Steve and the new father grins and cooed. “Hey, what are you looking at?”

The newborn gurgles and smiles and the parents chuckle. The newborn looks around the room, and even as he can’t turn his head yet nor move his neck, his eyes roam, as if inspecting his surroundings, or whatever it is he can see with his eyes. He doesn’t let go of Steve’s finger, and he puts it again in his mouth.

“Curious about your surroundings, little one?” Natasha asks softly, and she watches until the baby’s eyes land on the big window of the hospital room that oversees the garden. “You wanna see outside the window?”

The baby gurgles softly, as if responding to his mother’s question. “I’ll go show him,” Steve offers softly. “Just by the window, where he can see outside.” Natasha nods, leaning down to press a kiss on his forehead once more before transferring him to Steve’s arms. The baby squirms a little as Steve shifts him until he calms and makes himself comfortable in his father’s arms. He stands and walks toward the window, where he shifts so he’s showing James outside the window.

Outside, it is beautiful. It’s nearly dusk, and the sun is about to set in an hour or so, which only gives the sky a more orange hue. Natasha watches as Steve bounces the newborn in his arms, and she smiles when he leans down and murmurs something to him, something light perhaps, something in which his voice comes out as airy and light. She leans back in her bed and just watches them—her boys, her son and her husband as they watch the sun set.

He’s probably telling him about the different shades of orange as seen in the sky, or the trees that surround the area and the birds that fly. He’s that type of father, she thinks, who’s always so excited to show his son the world outside. She wouldn’t want to. If she can, she would protect her boy, always cuddle him in his arms and never let him leave her side. Steve would be the opposite, perhaps. He’d be the type who will let their son be exposed to different kinds of things the world can offer—nature, for one. She trusts him to never let their son get hurt, but won’t coddle him too much that he won’t be exposed to the outside world.

Maybe it’s just mother’s instincts, but she just can’t imagine letting her baby out of the four walls of their room. But she knows she can’t do that.

And it’s true enough that Steve is indeed showing their son the outside world. “When you’re a little bigger, and the doctors say Mommy can go, we’ll take you outside,” he murmurs lovingly to the baby in his arms, whose blue eyes are wide as they look at the sky. “And then you can feel the sun, hear the birds sing, and maybe when you’re old enough you can run around on the grass.” He smiles when the newborn starts flailing his arms. “But like Mommy said, don’t grow up too fast just yet. We just had you. Allow your folks to just treat you like a baby, hm?”

And when he looks back at his wife, he sees Natasha watching them, a small and fond smile on her face, which widens when she catches his eye. He pauses, and smiles wider, marveling for a moment at how beautiful she is. Even as she’s tired, and her eyes are droopy and she’s about to fall asleep any second now, she’s still beautiful, and she gets more beautiful as time passes. He also wonders why she wouldn’t just allow herself to sleep. She’s not holding their baby, she can freely—

_ Oh, _ he muses.  _ That's the thing with Natasha. She won't rest, not until she has her baby back in her arms. _ Steve grins, and just wonders for a second how long her clinginess with their son will last. This is only the beginning, and he’s sure enough this feeling won’t pass.

He prays it never will, not for both of them.

“You should take a rest, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

She hums and just smiles widely and a bit sleepily when he sits on the edge of the bed, adjusting their newborn son in his arms. “Not when the little one is still awake,” she says, smiling. “Don’t want to miss a second with him.”

Steve chuckles. “You know, we should start calling him by his name.” he says, and Natasha laughs softly.

“I still prefer calling him my ‘little one’, because he is,” she says. “But I suppose I can change it to ‘little James’.” She grins, as if testing the name out in her mouth, and liking it. Steve laughs, and looks down at their son.

“James Iosef Rogers,” he says, smiling.  _ James _ , for Bucky, Steve’s best friend and a piece of Natasha’s past which both of them redeemed from.  _ Iosef _ , a Russian version of Steve’s father’s name, both giving tribute to Natasha’s Russian blood and Steve’s late father. “It suits him. It’s as beautiful as him.”

Steve transfers little James back to his mother’s arms, and as if in an instant, the newborn lets out a small yawn and settles in a comfortable sleep in her arms. Steve presses a soft kiss on Natasha’s lips and she gives him a sleepy and beautiful smile.

“I love you.” she whispers, her eyelids dropping heavily. Steve smiles, leaning to press a kiss on her forehead, and down on their son’s forehead as well.

“I love you too,” he whispers back. “Both of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, kudos and comments appreciated!


	13. Mama Pauk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13\. The very first time Natasha calls Peter her baby spider.
> 
> "But now as she feels a part of him has opened up to her, and as she allowed herself to open a part of herself to him, she feels a sort of connection, a maternal one, even. And she kind of...loves it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter does not include James, but I did see requests for more Nat/Peter interactions so here it is! Could be considered a prequel from Chapter 9.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

According to the clock beside their bed, it’s half past two in the morning. Natasha groans inwardly, burrowing her face deeper into Steve’s chest, clutching his shirt with her fist, and she feels his arm around her waist stiffen and tighten, as if securing her in his arms. She presses a soft kiss on his jaw, and runs a hand through his blonde hair and his hold on her loosens. She smiles, stroking his hair through her fingers, effectively relaxing his furrowed eyebrows and the frown on his mouth.

She feels her stomach grumble again, and she frowns.

She knows it’s half past two in the morning, but her stomach apparently doesn’t.

The two of them had just come home from a mission, along with them Clint and Wanda. The mission had ended in the early evening, so Clint and Wanda were able to retire early, possibly even join the team at dinner, but Steve and Natasha had to go straight to Maria for debriefing and reporting. The debriefing was long and grueling, with so many questions coming from Maria that neither Steve nor Natasha had the answer to, as the mission was simply preliminary to yet another bigger mission.

They were effectively released when Natasha began to get grumpy, and refused to talk any further, her arms crossed and her lips pouting, and her eyes are already drooping. It was already half past twelve, and Steve had practically dragged her back to their bedroom when she claimed she was too tired to walk. Halfway through their walk from the debriefing room to the communal room leading to their floor, Steve had already carried her, and she was less grumpy.

They passed out almost immediately after washing themselves, both too tired to even think about doing anything tonight other than sleep. They got to sleep at around one in the morning, neither of them having eaten anything since the morning they left.

And now Natasha’s stomach has a way of making its statement.

_ “Molchi _ ,” Natasha mutters in Russian under her breath, closing her eyes as she buries her face in the crook of Steve’s neck. “No.”

“Hm?” Steve asks sleepily, and when Natasha looks up at him, his eyes slowly open to look down at her, his arm around her waist tightening as he presses a sleepy kiss on the top of her head. “D’you say something?”

“Not to you,” she tells him softly, leaning to press a kiss on his jaw again. “Go back to sleep.”

“You said shut up,” Steve replies sleepily, his eyes closing again, but he opens them again, and he smiles sleepily. “Molchi, shut up. Was I snoring too loud?”

“Not you, Steve,” Natasha tells him, raising a hand to run her fingers through his hair, and he hums appreciatively, his voice raspy. “Now go to sleep.”

But then her stomach rumbles loudly, and Steve’s sleepy smile turns into a wide grin, and he chuckles softly, the vibrations of his laughter sending up in her body. Natasha pouts when Steve looks down at her. “Now you know it’s not you.” she tells him, and Steve only laughs.

“Mhm,” he says softly. “I can fix you some food.”

“No,” she tells him gently. “It’s okay. It can wait until morning.”

Steve looks at the clock. “It’s half past two in the morning.” he tells her.

“Steve.”

“Nat.”

Natasha huffs, and Steve grins, and her frown immediately turns upward it’s ridiculous. He leans down to kiss her on her forehead. “Let me cook you something.” he tells her, but she shakes her head.

“I’ll just grab a quick bite in the communal room,” she says. “They should have leftovers. Wanda left a note.”

“Mhm,” Steve says, and his eyes begin to droop again. “I’d join you, but…”

“I know, babe,” she says, smiling, as she leans up to press a chaste kiss on his lips. Steve had carried all the fights in their mission, and she knows how much Steve still needs his rest despite being a super soldier. “Get some sleep, alright? I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Steve hums against her mouth and then smiles.

“Did you just say jiffy?”

“Go back to sleep, Steve.”

Steve laughs again and releases her from his arms. She crawls above him, then out of the bed, before leaning down to press another kiss on his lips. She grabs one of Steve’s shirts and wears it on top of her camisole and she exits their bedroom and into the elevator.

She doesn’t expect company at almost a quarter to three in the morning, so she never bothered to even fix her disheveled hair. She was surprised, however, when she found the television in the living room open, and a familiar smaller figure huddled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket draped over his shoulders.

Said figure looks at the elevator when it opened. “Nat!” Peter exclaims, surprised but grinning widely, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows in surprise. 

“Hey, little guy,” Natasha greets, smirking when she sees cartoons being shown on the television. “It’s almost three in the morning. What are you doing awake?”

Peter shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep,” he replies, then he tilts his head to the side. “When did you guys get here?”

Natasha opens the refrigerator. “From debriefing? Almost one in the morning.” she replies, regarding the contents of their nearly-filled refrigerator. “Did Wanda tell you where the leftovers are?”

Peter’s face brightens as he hops off the couch and walks quickly to the kitchen, his blanket dropping on the floor. “I can heat it, I can heat it!” he exclaims as he rushes to Natasha’s side. Natasha laughs softly and steps aside as Peter retrieves a big tupperware with pizza and fried chicken inside. “How many can you eat of each? Mister Stark said to leave a lot for Cap, but since it’s just you here…”

“Just one of each would be fine,” Natasha says. “And Steve will eat his leftovers in the morning. He’s beat.”

“Must be a hard mission, huh?” Peter asks, closing the fridge with his foot as he walks over to the counter by the microwave and retrieves a plate and utensils from the cupboard. “Clint and Wanda told us about it. Cap got most of the hit?”

“Not too serious,” she replies, walking over to sit on one of the high chairs in the counter. “Just a few bruises and scratches, nothing his serum won’t heal by the time he wakes up.”

Peter sets the timer and puts a slice of cheese pizza and fried chicken inside it. He walks back to the refrigerator and puts the tupperware back inside. “What about you? Did you get hurt?” he asks softly as he leans back on the counter by the microwave. Natasha smiles and shakes her head.

“Not much,” she replies. and Peter smiles. “You worry too much, young man.” She smirks and raises an eyebrow.

Peter shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “You worry about everyone, but you don’t let anyone else get worried for you,” he says, and then he grins. “And I know Cap does, but you worry about him too. I rarely get involved in missions now because of school, so it’s  _ my _ turn to worry for you.”

Natasha’s heart flutters in her chest as she feels herself laughing softly at the young man’s statement. “And what makes you think I don’t worry about you even when you’re at school, hm? How about those bullies you told me about before. What’s his name again? Eugene, or Brad? Or both of them?”

Peter chuckles softly and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Both, but it’s really no big deal, they’re nobody I couldn’t handle,” he says almost too quickly. “And Eugene is a huge Spiderman fan, so I think that makes him okay.”

The microwave alarms and Peter grabs a mitten to take the food out, transferring it to the plate. He grabs the utensils and brings it over to the counter where Natasha is sitting by, and she grins. Peter sits across from her. “Mister Stark got lazy, and Bruce was craving for pizza, so we got a  _ lot _ . Luckily we didn’t get to finish all of them, so we got some leftovers,” he says. “And then we waited for you until eleven, but then everyone else got sleepy. I did, too, so we all just stored it in the fridge.”

Natasha laughs softly. “Thanks, little guy,” she says, taking a bite off her pizza. “Oh my, this is good. This is good food right here. Tony definitely knows which pizza flavor to get.”

“Didn’t expect the Black Widow to be a lover of an all-cheese pizza.” Peter teases, and Natasha chuckles, shaking her head.

“It’s the best invention there is, besides the one with shrimp and garlic, topped with mozzarella,” she says, and she takes another bite. “ _ That _ one’s pretty top tier.”

Peter’s face lights up and he grins. “I like that one too! I requested that flavor from Mister Stark, but we didn’t have anything left because I practically hogged more than half of it.” Natasha laughs and Peter’s grin widens as he watches.

“Wouldn’t be surprised knowing your big appetite,” she says, and finishes the rest of her pizza. “You’re just like Steve. Both your appetites are big, and one average meal of yours is good enough for two full meals for an average human being. No wonder we keep on running out of groceries.”

“Cap hogs majority of the chocolates,” he defends. “I just eat majority of whatever’s laid out on the table.”

Natasha hums as she picks up her utensils to dig in her fried chicken. “That you do,” she says, and then smiles. “You doing okay? What’s keeping you up tonight?”

Peter blushes and ducks his head, but he recovers fast enough to look up at Natasha. “It’s no big deal, really,” he says. “I mean I do it a lot, staying up all night. Sometimes I do my homework, or I read some comic books.” He shrugs and gives a small smile. “Not an unusual thing.”

Natasha smiles and puts the utensils down. “You know, take it from someone who has spent more than half of her life unable to sleep because of nightmares,” she says. “But sometimes, or most of the time, it’s better when things like these are talked about to someone.”

Peter shakes his head. “It’s...I don’t know if you’ll understand.” he admits quietly. Natasha leans back in her seat.

“Try me, then,” she urges softly. “So I’m right in assuming it’s nightmares, hm?”

Peter sighs and nods. “I, uh...I dreamt of them, my parents, I mean,” he says quietly. “I don’t remember much about them because I was a baby when they died. They died in a crash you see, a plane crash, but I wasn’t there so I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t really know. I dreamt about them, and I remember their faces because I still have pictures of them. They crashed again, and...this time, I was watching.”

Peter shakes his head and gives a sad smile. “I used to not understand, not really know why they died, but as I grew, Aunt May told me and...well, you already know from my file,” he says, and Natasha gives him a sad smile. “And now I know why, and I just...I know it’s not my fault and I had  _ nothing _ to do with how the spy ring got them, but I just...I  _ still _ feel like it is, and I can’t shake the feeling off. I watch them die in my dreams, and I...I save everyone now that I’m Spiderman but I couldn’t save them, not before. And I thought maybe it’s why I do this whole saving thing and superhero thing. If I couldn’t save them, you know, might as well save the others.”

She frowns slightly as she regards him. He’s sixteen, and he’s young, still has a lot of life and hope in his heart. Sixteen-year-olds are supposed to be studying for calculus tests in high school, supposed to be awkwardly asking girls they like out for awkward ice cream dates. They were supposed to hang out with friends after school for video games all night. They were supposed to be scolded by their parents for coming home late from a friend’s house after a night of video games, supposed to be kissed good night, still, by their moms and still go out with their dads for boys’ day out.

As she looks at Peter, she realizes he doesn’t do those things. He’s an Avenger, a superhero, forced to become one by his own guilt that shouldn’t even exist, forced to take on the responsibility because by fate or whatever, he was bitten by a radioactive spider and is now a superhuman. He wanted to save others because he couldn’t save his parents.

He’s not an average sixteen-year-old, and she gets that. She understands that. Because when she was sixteen, trained and surveyed under the KGB, neither was she. When she lost memories of her past, was forced to seduce and kill anyone who comes across the KGB, forced to live a lonely life when she lost the one man she thought she can live a good life with, she never became a normal sixteen-year-old.

“I’m sorry.” she whispers, and Peter looks up and gives her a small smile. He straightens himself and nods.

“What were your parents like?” he asks, and she pauses. This boy doesn’t really know much about her, not really. But it’s just an innocent question, one that doesn’t leave an innocent taste in her mouth when she says the truth.

“I don’t...I don’t know,” she says honestly, openly, and she gives him a small smile. “I don’t remember much about them, you see. When they took me in the Red Room, they altered my memories, got rid of the life I lived before they took me. But I was young, about four when the Red Room took me in.”

“I didn’t...I didn’t know.” Peter whispers, and Natasha nods.

“It’s not really public knowledge,” she says softly, smiling sincerely now. “But when I got to S.H.I.E.L.D., I dug up my file, dug anything about them because I had access to their files. I got to know their names, and at some point I got to visit their graves too when Steve and I went to Russia.”

“Cap knows?”

“Of course,” she says, chuckling softly. “When we started dating, I told him everything.”

Peter nods and then he swallows down his throat. “Did you...did you ever get the feeling that you could’ve...you could’ve done something to save them too?” he asks quietly.

_ All the time. _ She smiles and looks up at the ceiling, and she remembers the dreams, of course, the nightmares. She never had any idea how they looked like, but she always imagined a redheaded man, tall, slender who looks at her so lovingly and kindly, and beside her a smaller blonde woman with beautiful curly hair, green eyes who looks like her, and who looks at her like she’s proud of her. She imagines going up to them, and she can even feel their embrace before they get shot.

She remembers waking up screaming, of course, and crying because she didn’t see the bullet coming to kill both her parents. Steve would embrace her, soothe her with loving words, but on some nights, not even his embrace nor his words can eliminate the pain and guilt weighing in her heart.

Even if she knows it wasn’t her fault, that she had nothing to do with why they were gone, she can’t help but  _ feel _ it.

“I did,” she answers softly, looking back at Peter. “I still do, sometimes. It never goes away, you know, even if I never really knew what happened. But I’m sure that even if I did, I would still feel the same amount of guilt.”

“No matter how many times people assure you it’s not your fault…” Peter continues softly, and she nods. “I didn’t know you also felt it.”

Natasha smiles. “I’m full of surprises, you know,” she says and Peter chuckles softly. “How long? With those nightmares, how long?”

Peter shakes his head. “For as long as I can remember being Spiderman,” he tells her softly. “You?”

“For as long as I can remember being me.” she repeats quietly. 

“It never goes away, huh?” Peter asks quietly, and Natasha smiles sadly, shaking her head.

“But it eases when you’re with people sometimes,” she says softly. “Being with Steve helped a lot, of course, because I had someone to talk it with. He couldn’t get rid of his habit of assurance, to the point that it’s sometimes annoying, but it’s still nice to have someone there. It’s nice to have someone to be with when those nightmares come.”

Peter stays silent, and Natasha smiles as she leans forward to extend her arm on the counter, and Peter looks at it, taking her hand as he looks at her with uncertainty. She gives his hand a light squeeze. “When those nightmares come, promise me you’ll call me,” she tells him softly. “No matter what time of night it is, I promise I’ll be there, alright? We’ll get through it together.”

Peter begins to smile, and he nods, squeezing Natasha’s hand as well. “I...I will,” he answers softly. “I will. Thanks, Nat.” Natasha lets go of his hand and smiles widely, leaning back in her chair.

“No problem, маленький паук.” she says, and her smile widens when she says it. Маленький паук,  _ little spider, _ she’d been dying to call Peter that, ever since they started spending more time just kidding and joking around with each other. But now as she feels a part of him has opened up to her, and as she allowed herself to open a part of herself to him, she feels a sort of connection, a maternal one, even.

And she kind of...loves it.

“Thought you said a moment.” Natasha turns and smiles when she sees Steve leaning against the doorway, smiling with his arms crossed over his chest. He walks over to them and stands beside Peter, ruffling his hair, and the sixteen-year-old laughs softly, shaking his head off of Steve’s hands, muttering a quiet “hey” at Steve.

“Got caught up with the little guy here,” she says and Peter grins. “What, you got hungry too?”

“Well, I got cold because you were taking too long out of the bed,” he says. “Then I got hungry.”

“I’ll heat another one!” Peter exclaims, hopping off the chair. Natasha laughs softly as she and Steve watch the boy skip towards the fridge, telling Steve about the pizza, and how the team waited for them; the things he told Natasha too. Steve chuckles and reaches up to hold Natasha’s hand. She gives his hand a light squeeze.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, smiling, and Steve smiles widely.

“Just enough,” he says quietly, smiling knowingly. “Don’t tell me we’re planning to adopt Peter now, hm?”

Natasha laughs softly, as he looks at Peter who is transferring three slices of pizza and two pieces of chicken on a tray to be heated. Of course, Steve heard it. He’s learned Russian so quickly, he was able to hear his nickname for Peter and now he understands it. “Don’t tell him yet. It’s why I said it in Russian.” she says.

Peter comes in with the plate and puts it in front of Steve as he lets go of Natasha’s hand. “Thank you, Маленький паук.” Natasha tells Peter, and the teenager pauses, as Steve looks up at him and smiles.

“What does that mean?” he asks innocently, and Natasha chuckles, shaking her head.

“Nothing bad, anyway.” she tells him, winking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out State of Grace and the rest of my works in my profile! Also, I'm starting (yet again) with another series, and I might go for writing missing scenes in the MCU (with a bit of canon divergence, of course, because Romanogers), so suggestions of which I could write about will be highly appreciated!
> 
> Thanks so much, everyone! Don't forget to leave behind reviews and comments for this chapter as well!


	14. Passing Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14\. When Steve goes missing, Natasha has to be strong for their son.
> 
> “When Natasha tucked little James into bed at half past nine in the evening, Bucky came in and said that Steve’s tracks had gone cold, and his tracker had stopped. And then she worried.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this one’s a request, so here it is! It’s been lined up for the longest time in my oneshot dump so when I saw the request, I figured it was time to post it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Natasha wants to scream.

She instead lets out a loud huff as she looks up the ceiling and crosses her arms over her chest. She purses her lips together, crossing her right leg over her left as she pinches herself in the arm.  _ Don’t cry. _ She wills herself to let the tears stay where they are.  _ Don’t panic. _ She wills the panic and anger rising from her stomach to stay where it is and to dissolve on its own.

“Nat,” Bucky approaches her cautiously. “Natalia.”

She swallows and licks her lips as she puts her head down and meets Bucky’s light blue eyes. He sits on the seat across from her while she rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands and resting her chin on it. “Have you heard anything?” she asks quietly.

Bucky shakes his head. “Last update was they’re scouring over Hornsundtind. Stark said it was the last location before Steve’s tracker went off.” he says.

Natasha shakes her head and buries her face in her hands. Steve  _ hates _ the cold, and Svalbard is nothing but mercilessly freezing on February. She’s confident enough that Steve would survive anything, and not even the cold can destroy his body. If seventy years in the ice can prove anything, it’s that. Seventeen hours (and maybe a couple more, she’s not entirely sure) is nothing compared to seventy years.

But she worries. Because when he went under for seventy years, it’s not like he was hurt. It’s not like he had bleeding stab wounds or any signs of physical torture, and that’s probably a huge chunk of the reason how he survived. His body was still intact, not broken, still whole.

She worries that this time, he won’t be, because God knows what the mercs did to her husband, and God knows what injuries he sustained that he became weak enough to be captured by ordinary men.

“He hates the cold,” Natasha says quietly. She looks up again and meets Bucky’s eyes, looking at her sadly. “Steve hates the cold, and he’s out there,  _ in  _ the cold.”

“They’ll find him,” he tells her firmly, but his voice is soft. “They’re out there looking for him, and none of them have stopped. They’re going to find him, Nat.”

_ But what if they find him dead? _

“He’s not gonna leave,” he continues, as if sensing and reading her thoughts. “He won’t leave. Not like that, not like...not now, not there, not  _ ever. _ They’ll find him, and he’s going to come home alive.”

When Steve hasn’t been checking in on her, and he hasn’t been answering to any of her messages or attempts at contact for far more than twenty-four hours (it’s not like she’s a clingy wife, but it’s standard for both of them to check in on each other especially in missions when they’d be without each other), she decided to call Tony. But Bucky came in their floor when she was doing so, and he told her that a report from Sam came in: Steve had gone missing—knocked out and kidnapped, and the team is in pursuit. However, they were a little delayed, having been knocked unconscious by the men themselves, but they had an idea of where to go, as Steve’s tracker was still active. That was the report seventeen hours ago, at three in the afternoon in New York.

Natasha paid little attention to it. The team can find him. This isn’t the first time any one of them had gone missing and the team had to pursue a kidnapper. She expected they would find him and report to them that evening that they were on their way back, and they would be okay. She would get her husband back, and James would get his father back. He would be a little injured and hurt, but he’ll be here.

When Natasha tucked little James into bed at half past nine in the evening, Bucky came in and said that Steve’s tracks had gone cold, and his tracker had stopped. And  _ then _ she worried.

She was unable to sleep that evening, and Bucky stayed up with her. They were mostly quiet, and there were no conversations at all, save for Bucky asking Natasha what movie she wanted to watch, or if she’d like anything to drink or anything to eat that he can make. All her answers were short, as she couldn’t bring herself to think of anything other than the fact that her husband is missing.

Steve could be dead.

“Natalia,” Bucky had snapped her out of her thoughts last night. She looked at him, and he winced a little at the sight of her green bloodshot eyes filled with unshed tears. “It’s okay to cry.”

She swallowed down the urge to cry and shook her head. “Not gonna. No need to,” she said, and her voice broke. “No need to cry ‘cause he’ll be here.” Yet she was betrayed by her own statement when she felt a tear slip from her eyes, and the tears continued and never stopped. She allowed Bucky to hold her as she cried, and she soon fell asleep afterwards. Bucky carried her back to her bedroom, and that was where she woke up.

Now at eight in the morning, seventeen hours since Sam gave the update, none of the team on the search for Steve had said anything yet.

She wipes her eyes and sighs and looks at Bucky. “How do I look?” she asks weakly, and Bucky tilts his head sideways.

“Well, like shit,” he says honestly, and Natasha huffs out a weak laugh. “But if it’s for James, then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Natasha nods. James may be three years old, but he is already incredibly perceptive, especially when it concerns his parents’ emotions and feelings. He is oddly attuned to them, most especially with Natasha. James is quick to hug and cuddle with her when he feels her mother getting upset or stressed, but he’d also be quick to worry and get upset once he senses it too. (Steve had once mused at how she can never try to hide how she feels around James no matter what spy technique she tries, and it’s a consequence of how James is a huge Mama’s boy.)

So if she wants to keep her son in his best mood and not want to worry him, she’ll have to do extra work to keep  _ her _ mood, and effectively  _ his _ mood, upbeat and worry-free.

“I have to go back down, check in with the team,” Bucky tells her. “Unless y-you need me to stay, or…” he trails off, and Natasha shakes her head and gives him a small smile.

“It’s okay. Thank you, James.”

Bucky nods and stands, walking over to the door. “Call if you need anything, alright?” he asks, and she nods.

“You’ll tell me if there’s any update?” she asks, and Bucky nods, opening the door and closing it behind him.

She buries her face in her hands and she lets out a loud sigh. She runs her hands through her hair and stands to walk over to James’ room. She opens the door and smiles genuinely when she sees his mussed red hair sticking out from under his light blue comforter.

He’s too much like his father that way, not a lover of the cold.

She sits on the edge of the bed, and gently tugs the comforter down revealing a sleeping James, his eyes still shut tight, with his long lashes touching his rosy cheeks lightly. His fists are tucked under his chin, and one of his thumbs are sticking out, and resting on his bottom lip, as he probably sucked on it while he was sleeping. She smiles and runs a hand through his hair, leaning down to press a soft and gentle kiss on his forehead, the tip of his nose and both of his cheeks—her usual kissing pattern for her son, no matter if it’s to wake him up or to just express her love to him.

James groans, his eyebrows furrowing as he squirms. “Hey, little guy,” Natasha greets softly, smoothing James’ soft hair. “Time to wake up.”

James’ eyes flutter open, until Natasha sees those beautiful blue eyes that mirror her husband’s, and she smiles widely. She leans down to kiss the spot between his eyebrows again and James buries his face in the crook of Natasha’s neck, wrapping his arms around her. She chuckles softly as she carries him to her lap.

“You’re getting big and heavy now,” she grunts, as James shifts so his legs are also wrapped around his mother’s waist, as he clings closer to her. “You’re growing up too fast, little man.”

James mumbles something inaudible and Natasha smiles, pressing a kiss on his red hair as she runs her hand up and down James’ back. They stay like that for a while, and if Natasha was being honest, it’s one of the best things about her morning apart from, of course, waking up beside Steve. She loves the morning cuddling, how James would wrap his arms around her and just tuck his face in the crook of her neck. Sometimes, he’d fall back to sleep in that position, and she would just hold him until he wakes up again, or she would continue to soothe him awake if he needs to be up immediately. It’s one of her best moments of every day.

And for this day in particular, it’s her  _ only _ best moment yet.

James lifts his head and pulls away slightly to look at his mother. Natasha smiles and rubs their noses together, and James lets out a soft giggle. “Kiss Mommy on the cheek?” she asks, pointing to her right cheek. James pecks her cheek and smiles and Natasha grins. “You hungry, hm? How about I cook some pancakes for us, would you like that?”

James nods enthusiastically and Natasha kisses his cheek before standing up, adjusting the three-year-old on her hip as they proceed to the kitchen. While Natasha and Steve were informed by Bruce that James had inherited both his parents’ serum (Steve’s serum dominating over hers, naturally), he told them that effects of which will still be evident when he reaches kindergarten. So at three years old, he is still small, small enough that Natasha can still carry him and treat him like her little boy.

And he always will be her little boy, three years old or not, with the serum or not.

Natasha sets him down on his high chair and opens the refrigerator where his milk bottles are stored. She gets one and gives it to James who takes it happily, immediately drinking the milk from the bottle.

He looks around their floor, just as Natasha begins to retrieve a bowl from the cupboard to prepare the batter. James looks back at his mother. “Mommy, where’s Daddy?” he asks in his small voice.

And Natasha tries not to freeze, tries not to pause, because any sort of odd movement might alert James that something is wrong. So she takes a couple of seconds as she opens the ready-made batter with a pair of scissors. She hums, and looks back at James and smiles. “Not yet here, babe. Remember when Daddy said him, Uncle Tony, Uncle Sam, Auntie Wanda and Vision will be working?” she asks lightly, and James nods. “Well, they’re still there, and they’re probably kicking more of the bad guys’ butts.”

“But Daddy said he’ll be back today,” James says softly, frowning slightly. But he suddenly perks up. “Are they saving lots and lots of other people’s lives?”

It’s not like what they do for a living is a secret to James. It’s kinda hard to keep it a secret, really. Steve or Natasha would be out for hours,  _ days _ even when they are assigned on overseas missions, so it’s kind of hard for them to come up with excuses for their smart little guy to explain where either of his parents are when they would be gone for quite some time. Besides, Tony’s technology and gear, as well as Sam’s flying equipment are kind of hard to hide inside the Tower, and Steve couldn’t find a better way to explain James why he couldn’t play with his shield or why he couldn’t touch Natasha’s Widow bites when they’re spread somewhere inside their floor.

The injuries are also hard to explain when they come home with one, though they try not to sustain as much because when James sees it, it will only upset him. (One time, Natasha had come home with a bandaged abdomen because she was shot, and she was unable to walk properly without Steve’s assistance. James never left her side, and had been crying silently because he’s worried Natasha was still hurting and bleeding, which she was, but it’s relatively better when she got home. Steve and Natasha promised to never come home hurt.)

And Natasha’s afraid that Steve is going to break that promise.

“Yeah, honey,” she answers softly, slightly relieved. “Lots and lots of people’s lives, that’s why it’s taking them quite a long time to go back.”

Natasha walks over back to the refrigerator, retrieving the container of chocolate chips and closes it. She stops in front of James to lean down and touch the tip of his nose lightly, smiling. “Which is why when Daddy comes home, he’s going to be super tired. I want you to give him lots of cuddles and kisses, okay?” she asks. James grins widely and nods excitedly. Natasha smiles wider and kisses the tip of James’ nose and proceeds back to the counter where she’s preparing the pancakes. James proceeds to his usual babble, and Natasha does her best to listen attentively, asking questions and adding more things like how James would want her to. She does her best to make this morning as normal for James. She does her best to keep up the happy mother facade for her son.

She does her best to hope brightly and positively for Steve, even if every inch of her body is shaking with the uncertainty and anxiety of the worst possible case.

They start eating at nine in the morning, eighteen hours since the team declared Steve as missing on the field. She vainly attempts a call after laying James’ second round of pancakes on his plate. For the past couple of hours, she heard ringing, but now it’s absolutely  _ nothing. _

She closes her eyes and sighs as she puts her phone down. Her back is facing James, as Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose in an attempt to quell her worry.

“Mommy, are you okay?”

She turns around and finds James frowning slightly, his eyes wide and worried as he watches his mother. His hands are clasped together on his lap under the table of his high seat, his thumbs fumbling with each other. Natasha immediately recovers, and she walks over to James.

“Hey, yeah, of course,” she says softly, leaning to cup her son’s cheeks, her thumbs brushing the apple of his rosy cheeks gently. “Why won’t I be?” She smiles, but James pouts.

“You look sad, Mommy.” he points out quietly, sounding very upset himself, but Natasha shakes her head.

“No, no, baby, I’m okay, Mommy’s okay, see?” Natasha smiles widely, sticking her tongue out and making faces that make James smile a little. She sits down on the chair beside James’ high chair and she smooths his hair neatly. “Mommy’s not sad, hm? So no need to be sad.” She puts her thumb on the corners of James’ mouth and gently turns it upwards, and James giggles softly, making Natasha grin. “No need to be sad, okay?”

James nods and Natasha leans to kiss James’ forehead lovingly. “How about you finish your pancakes, let’s take a bath and then we go play? Uncle Bucky is also downstairs. Sound good?” she asks lightly.

“Yeah!” James exclaims excitedly, bouncing in his seat. Natasha laughs softly.

* * *

It has been approximately thirty-one hours since Steve was reported missing, and Natasha had put James to bed, after spending the entire day playing and evading her emotions. Bucky had received reports from Sam when Natasha and James had come down to the communal that morning, and reported that they have scouted the entire Svalbard and are splitting up to the rest of the Arctic Circle, with reports centralized toward Sam and Tony, both of which are exploring Greenland and Iceland respectively. Tony called in the rest of his Iron Troops to scout as well, so their perimeter should be wide.

By three in the afternoon, twenty-four hours since Steve was reported missing, Tony reported that one of his Iron Armors detected movements in Keilir, and are in pursuit when they found Steve, who was reported as still alive but almost unconscious and beaten. That had Natasha’s heart clench and her chest constrict, but still, she needed to put on a happy face for James. She needed to be strong for James.

Steve is alive, and they have seen him. They are in pursuit. It’s all that matters.

But that was the last report that they had heard from the team, according to Bucky. Natasha made sure James had exhausted all his energy in playing so as to make him sleep early as well, so Natasha and Bucky can focus on the team abroad.

“Mommy, is Daddy okay?” James asks when Natasha tucks him under his comforter. The three-year-old’s eyes are wide, and Natasha is  _ almost, almost _ tempted to tell him the truth. Her chest constricts and her heart clenches, but she knows that if he tells him so, he won’t be able to sleep, and all he will do is worry.

Natasha sighs. There’s a difference, she thinks, between being strong and appearing strong, and right now, she can’t do either. She’s appearing to be strong, even when her insides are being crushed and squeezed at every hour that passes since Steve had gone missing. She wasn’t strong enough, however, to escape past her son’s perceptive eyes. She thinks it’s not even the fact that he is attuned to his parents anymore, but rather it was just  _ that _ obvious with how she acted the whole day: about being on-edge all the time, jittery and nervous, even as she plays with James. But she’s not teaching her son to be strong if she continues to lie like this, ignore the problem like this.

But James shouldn’t  _ have _ to be strong. He’s only three years old.

Natasha smooths his hair and leans down to kiss his forehead gently. She takes a deep breath. “Daddy is a bit hurt in the mission, baby,” she says quietly. “It just worries Mommy, that’s all.” Understatement of the year, but she figures it was the best she can do.

James frowns. “Will he be okay?” he asks in a small voice.

“Yeah, babe. Remember Uncle Tony, Uncle Sam, Auntie Wanda and Vision are with him, right? They’re taking good care of Daddy now before they have to go home.” she explains lightly, but James’ frown just deepens.

“But why can’t they take care of Daddy here at home? You can take care of Daddy better.” he points out softly, and Natasha chuckles lightly.

“I do, hm?” she asks, and James nods. “Well, that doesn’t mean that when he comes home, I won’t take care of him anymore. That just means that they have to make sure Daddy is okay enough so they can come home. Remember they’re going back with the airplane, right? And Daddy has to drive the airplane because no one else can.”

Again, a lie, but not  _ entirely _ a lie. But James takes it, and he lets out a small chuckle when Natasha winks. “Don’t worry about Daddy, okay? He’s going to be fine, and he’s going to come home soon, alright?” she tells James, who nods. “Good night, my love.” She presses another kiss on his forehead.

“Good night, Mommy. Love you.” James replies after letting out a small yawn. Natasha smiles.

“I love you too.” She presses another kiss on the tip of his nose and turns the night light on before standing up to turn the lights in his bedroom off.

She doesn’t allow herself to fall asleep, plagued with more worry and anxiety than she felt the rest of the day. Did Tony get the people who kidnapped Steve? Were they able to get Steve on time? What did they want with Steve? She stands up and pours herself a glass of red wine, drinking it in one go. She grabs the whole bottle and plops down on the couch of their living room.

By the time the bottle is empty, she checks the clock, and it’s half past eleven in the evening, thirty-two hours since Steve was reported missing. She turns the television on, and she cries, as silently as she could, so as to not wake James up. She muffles her sobs with the sleeve of her sweater, and wipes tears that are pouring from her eyes. She held her tears back the entire day, and now that she’s tired, and James is asleep, she couldn’t stop it. Not anymore. She’s gone past the stage of worrying and is now just filled with frustration—for not being there, for not being able to do enough to look for him and find him, for  _ her _ inadequacy to do anything at all to find her husband, that all she can do is cry. She lets the tears flow, and lets out small and quiet sobs.

It’s okay to be weak. It’s okay to be weak when no one’s watching.

And so she cries, because she couldn’t do it earlier that day, and she couldn’t do it when the rises the following day either. And as she does, she doesn’t hear the quinjet landing in the Tower, nor does she hear the commotion of the team’s arrival. And when the door opens to her floor, she doesn’t look, because Bucky will just ask her how she is, and this is enough an answer for him.

But when two big, calloused yet familiar hands rest on her cheeks, she opens her eyes, and she sees those beautiful blue eyes that she thought she would never see again. His eyes are tired, and his face is filled with cuts and bruises, that when she rests her hands to cup her cheeks, he winces slightly, and she sees a bruise forming on the apple of his cheek. His blonde hair is mussed and dirty, and when she regards him, his uniform is covered in dirt and torn, and bandages around his abdomen and right thigh are seen, both of which have red spots.

But he is here, and he is whole.

“Steve.” she whispers, and he nods, smiling despite the tears gathering in his eyes. She lets out a choked sob as she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He moves with great difficulty so he can sit on the couch beside her, and he adjusts himself so she can put her legs over his and bury her face on his chest—over his heart, a sign that he is alive, and that he is okay, and that he is home.

He holds her, murmurs loving words to her as she cries. And she cries until she falls asleep in his arms.

He does, too. And it’s the first sleep he had since more than thirty-two hours ago, and he is home, safe with his wife in his arms, and his son asleep in his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My other work, “State of Grace” is nearly ending. If you haven’t checked it out, please do! And also more requests on Romanogers oneshots is greatly appreciated!
> 
> Reviews, comments, kudos super appreciated!


	15. Baby Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15\. James has a nightmare and wakes his parents up.
> 
> “A small and faint whimper is heard again, and Steve lifts his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he blinks and looks down at Natasha. “Is that James?” he asks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s one for MarvelObsessedgirl3, and all those who are soft for the Rogers family. Hope you like it!

Looking back, it all probably started when Natasha had come home with four stab wounds on her abdomen.

Well, four stab wounds apart from the broken left leg, head trauma, a few broken ribs and bruised sides, that is.

And in hindsight, they probably should have _ not _let Natasha back in their floor until she was completely healed (or at least until her wounds are bleeding significantly less even when they’re bandaged), but even Steve could not resist her when she started crying and begging that she be allowed to recover in their floor so she can be in the same room as James. She had been pale and weak when they brought her back in from a long mission, and she was almost unconscious because of the massive amount of blood that she had lost and the head trauma she experienced.

But even after her surgery, and she slowly started getting a better grasp on reality the following day, she started begging to be moved back to their floor so she can be with James.

Even if Steve supported her request of being moved back to the floor, Helen Cho was not at all comfortable with getting her back up. “There’s also a reason why we’re not allowing James to visit you yet down here,” she told them both with a raised eyebrow. “We could wait until you’re at least able to get up from the bed by yourself, or at least your head bandage will be removed.”

“Nat doesn’t look _ that _ bad,” Steve argued weakly. “She’s still whole, and James will still easily recognize her. I’ll just tell him to be careful around her.”

Helen looked skeptical, but Natasha was about to throw yet another crying fit for being too far away from her son, so she didn’t argue any further. Though Natasha still had tender ribs, healing wounds, head bandages and a cast on her leg, she remained more or less the same, if not excited to see James again.

Steve told her that he had already explained to James that Natasha was hurt, and that he would be careful around her. James had been quick to understand (or so he thought, but he later figured his agreement to understanding the injuries was mostly because he just wanted to see his mother no matter what). He helped her up on their floor, and she was greeted by their two-year-old son, who was drawing on his sketchbook on the floor and grinned to greet his mother, but his face instantly fell when he saw the injuries she sustained.

“Mommy hurt?” James asked in a small voice, his eyes growing wide and filling with tears. Steve guided Natasha on the couch and she ignored the immense pain she felt when she tried to get up on her own to reach for her son. James toddled hesitantly, but she can see it in his eyes how much he wanted to be held by his mother.

“Yeah, Jamie, just a bit,” Natasha said. “But I’ll be okay soon, alright?”

“Remember what I said, little guy? Hugs and kisses will make Mommy feel better.” Steve added softly.

James frowned a little, his bottom lip quivering slightly as he ran to his mother’s arms. Steve frowned slightly when he saw the tears gathering in Natasha’s eyes as she winced silently upon James’ impact to her body. Nevertheless, she lifted him to her lap and put a smile on her face as she cuddled with James in her arms, peppering the toddler’s face with kisses until their son was just giggling and cuddling further into Natasha’s body.

“Jamie, careful with Mommy.” Steve warned.

“It’s okay,” Natasha said, pressing a kiss on James’ forehead as the two-year-old started to pull away slightly, confused as to what he was supposed to do. “It’s okay. The cuddles make it better.”

Steve had to pull James away half an hour later when he started crying because he found Natasha’s shirt was starting to stain red. Steve lifted James off from Natasha and sat down beside her, and when he lifted her shirt, she had pulled one of the stitches from her abdomen when she lifted James to her lap. They had come down to Helen to have her stitches fixed, and James was adamant to cling to his mother’s good side. James had also become upset the entire day, and never left his mother’s side, the sight of which broke Natasha’s and Steve’s hearts. Even then, he would cry silent tears when he saw his mother winced at every movement as she moved back to her bedroom with Steve upon Helen’s strict instructions.

Which was how Helen ended up being smug about her instructions and warnings, and how Natasha ended up in bed rest, and how James also ended up spending the majority of his day curled up beside his mother. Natasha would read him storybooks and they would play with his toys on their bed, and it would bring a smile on James’ face, and his laughter would be back, but there’s no denying that he’s also one to keep a keen eye on his mother’s reactions to the pain in her body, and how upset he becomes at every instance of pain.

James is very perceptive, and even as a two-year-old, it amazed Steve and Natasha at how attuned he is with his mother’s and father’s emotions.

But slowly, as the day passes, her injuries had become less, mostly thanks to her Red Room serum which hastens the healing process in her body. In no time, she’s able to get out of bed without pain, lift James in her arms and play with him outside of the bedroom. James had been happy about this, of course, and Steve, too, because it meant they could _ also _ go back to their usual nightly activities. Things are going back to normal.

Well, most things, at least.

Natasha is awakened when she hears small whimpers and cries from the other room. Her eyes become wide and alert, and she tugs Steve’s collar. “Do you hear that?” she asks quietly.

Steve stirs awake, tightening his arm around his wife’s waist to pull her closer. “Hear what?” he asks sleepily, his eyes still closed as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

A small and faint whimper is heard again, and Steve lifts his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he blinks and looks down at Natasha. “Is that James?” he asks.

“Yeah? Unless there’s another baby in this floor…”

“Nat.”

And then small footsteps are heard approaching their bedroom, and both Steve and Natasha slowly get up to turn on the lamps on their nightstands. The door opens, and little James pads in tentatively. “Mommy? Daddy?” he asks in a small voice. His red hair is mussed and he is rubbing his eyes with his closed fists. His Captain America pajamas are wrinkled from his sleep (or, short-lived sleep).

“Hey, baby, come here.” Natasha says softly, moving to sit on the edge of the foot of their bed and extend her arms. James runs over to his mother as she lifts her son to sit on her lap. James buries his face in the crook of his mother’s neck and whimpers, wrapping his arms around her neck.

“What’s going on, buddy?” Steve asks softly, moving over beside Natasha to rub his hand on James’ back.

“Is it a bad dream?” Natasha asks softly, pressing her lips on James’ hair. “Hm? Monsters under the bed again?”

James shakes his head and he lifts his head and pulls away from his mother to crawl over to Steve’s lap. Steve wraps an arm around him as James reaches again over to Natasha, tugging the hem of her (Steve’s) shirt over her cotton shorts. “What is it, baby?” Natasha asks, wrapping her hand around James’.

James whimpers, his bottom lip quivering as he points at her abdomen. She furrows her eyebrows and looks at Steve, but he seemed to have gotten what their son is trying to say, so he just nods, smiling sadly at her. “Look.” James urges softly, in his small voice, still pointing at her abdomen.

And while Natasha’s first thought is to think that James might know more than her whether she’s pregnant or not (just out of the top of her mind—it _ is _ two in the morning after all), when she lifts her shirt, exposing her abdomen. James frowns as more tears threaten to fill his eyes, and when she follows his line of sight, she spots the faint marks of her stitches from her stab wounds on her abdomen.

He dreamt about it. Her injuries, her pulling off her stitches when she picked him up. He awoke because of it.

“Mommy hurt.” James whimpers softly, his eyes wide and looking up at his mother, his bottom lip sticking out and quivering.

“Hey,” Natasha says softly, putting her shirt down as she smooths James’ hair. “I’m okay now. Mommy’s not hurt anymore, you see?” She leans down so she can let James’ hand touch her face. “No more hurting.”

Natasha’s heart aches when James’ frown deepens and his eyes begin to fill with tears. “Come here,” she says. James extends his arms and Natasha moves him back to her lap. She sits him down and lifts her shirt again. “No more red, you see?” She runs her fingers smoothly over the stitch marks. “No more boo-boos too.”

James sniffles and moves his hand to rest on Natasha’s over her abdomen. He pulls it away and looks at it, perhaps making sure if there was no red on his hand or on his mother’s shirt anymore. “Mommy’s not hurt anymore.” she says softly, taking his hand in hers and smiling down at him.

Steve smooths his son’s hair. “Is that what you dreamed of, hm? That Mommy was hurt?” he asks softly, and James nods, pouting.

“Daddy too,” James adds softly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Mommy and Daddy hurt fight.”

And it breaks both of Natasha’s and Steve’s hearts, because they know that, as much as they try their best to stay out of danger, it’s their line of work. The very least they can do is to go on lesser missions, those where their expertise are most needed, and to ensure that at least one of them would stay at home to take care of James. Even if they say that they will do their best to minimize the injuries they would acquire, moments like the one Natasha had encountered days ago in missions are still inevitable, and the _ very _ least they can do is to at least get home alive.

They know how much their line of work takes a toll on each other, and they knew how it would somehow take a toll on their son, but they never knew _ how _ it can take a toll on him. Until now.

She wonders what his dream showed him, that he got up at two in the morning to his parents’ room, and repeatedly ensure that the blood stains he saw on his mother’s shirt days ago was gone.

“I’ll be more careful next time,” Natasha says softly, cuddling James closer to her chest. “I promise to be more careful, okay? So Mommy won’t be hurt anymore, and Daddy won’t be hurt too.”

“Promise?” James asks in a small voice, looking at both of his parents, his eyes wide and glistening with tears.

Natasha looks at Steve who sighs and nods, and he pulls her closer to press a kiss on the side of her head. She knows how much Steve hates having to falsely promise to his family, to Natasha and James mostly, but also knew the importance of it—to keep his family members sane, and to promise the same thing to himself.

This is one of the moments they _ need _ to make another one of those promises.

“We promise,” Steve says softly, leaning to press a kiss on James’ hair. “We promise, Jamie.”

And they’re determined to keep this promise true.

James doesn’t let go of Natasha so she lay him down on their bed, him in between his parents. Natasha turns to turn the lamp off on her side and cuddles closer to hold James to her chest as she presses her lips on his forehead. She pulls away slightly to watch James’ eyes flutter close, and looks up at Steve and nods. Steve turns the lamp off on his side and drapes an arm over his son and wife, pulling them closer as if to protect them from the dangers of outside, and nightmares looming from the windows.

It’s also the least thing he can do to try to protect his family.

“Good night.” Steve whispers, both to James and Natasha. James is fast asleep between them, and Natasha smiles up at Steve, reaching over to run her fingers through his blonde hair. Steve’s eyes start to flutter, and her smile widens because she knows how much this gesture soothes him back to slumber. She rests her hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek gently. She does her best to assure him, assure both of her boys, that she’ll do anything to fulfill the promise they’ve made.

It’s also the least thing she can do to try and protect her family.

“Good night.” she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, comments, more prompts (pls) very much appreciated! And don’t forget to be nice to everyone ☀️


	16. Black Widow's Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16\. Prompt: "Natasha and Steve dealing with the fact that James overheard people talking about the Black Widow, perhaps even parts of her past or just vicious gossip, and it upset him."
> 
> "He thinks his Mommy is pretty perfect, and to learn that she is also a famous superhero called the Black Widow? He’s one pretty damn proud four-year-old for it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request made by stevenatlover. Love your prompts! If you have more, go ahead and comment them. :)

James, at a young age of four years old, can pride himself in three things: 1) he can count up to a hundred (with some prompting from his Uncle Bucky); 2) he can climb up and down the stairs without his parents’ help, and; 3) his parents are Captain America and Black Widow.

And James is most especially proud of the third fact.

And it was funny how he came to know about it. He knew his parents were superheroes because they told him so—they save lives, and sometimes they get hurt in the process, but they always come back home. He knew his Daddy has a big shield with a star in the middle (that he’s allowed to play with only if his Daddy is watching him), and his Mommy had these gauntlets and batons that glow and “stings” (it’s what his Mommy said, which is why he’s not allowed to play with any of it). Over time, he learned that they fight for a living, along with his uncles and aunties, and he finds it really cool.

But then his friends at daycare start bringing with them lunch boxes and bags that had his Daddy’s shield, or had a drawing of his Mommy (complete with her usual suit, red hair and batons), then he started getting confused.

“What’s that?” he asked one of his classmates that had a lunch box with his Daddy’s shield on it.

“It’s a Captain America lunch box,” his classmate, Brandon, responded. “He’s my favorite superhero.”

And the same happened when, during their art time, his girl classmate drew a picture of a woman that resembled his mother’s suit, red hair and batons.

“Someday, I want to be like Black Widow,” his classmate, Daisy, said. “She’s _ my _ favorite Avenger.”

Then his classmates started talking about all the different Avengers, who apparently were a group of superheroes saving other people’s lives—like his Mommy and Daddy!—and they started bringing out their different pencil cases that had his Uncle Thor’s face on it, as well as his Uncle Tony’s helmet. He wondered how they knew about his parents, as well as his Uncles, let alone how they got bags and lunch boxes with their faces on it (James personally found it weird—was he also supposed to own a bag with his parents’ faces on it?). He wondered what the Avengers are, and if these superheroes knew his parents too, since they’re also superheroes.

And then came the day when, instead of his Uncle Bucky, Uncle Sam or Happy who picked him up from daycare, it was his parents. He was excited when he saw them, immediately running towards his mother’s arms where she lifted him to press a small kiss on his cheek, and where his father mussed his hair and kissed his forehead.

And when he looked around, the kids were staring at them in awe, and the parents were staring at them as well. James looked at his parents confusedly, while Natasha and Steve just looked at each other and smiled sheepishly. “Mommy, why are they looking?” James asked in a small voice, as he wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck. Surely, if something bad were to happen, his parents will protect him, and they will get out of it alive. His parents are superheroes, and they save lives, so they should be able to save him too.

And then suddenly, Brandon pointed at Steve. “That’s Captain America!”

And then followed Daisy, and other girls, pointed at Natasha. “That’s Black Widow!”

And then the parents took turns in asking if James’ Mommy and Daddy can take pictures with their children, and they also asked if they can sign their “Captain America lunch boxes” or “Black Widow bags”. Steve and Natasha agreed politely, of course, as they smiled at photos and signed lunch boxes and bags. Some of James’ classmates also hugged his parents, which confused him more, because don’t they have parents whom they hug too? Why did they have to hug _ his _ parents?

“Jamie, you didn’t tell us your parents are superheroes!” Daisy exclaimed, and his classmates nodded in agreement. “And that Captain America is your Dad, and Black Widow is your Mom.”

“Yeah, being their kid is kind of really cool!” Brandon exclaimed.

And many more of his classmates started joining in, and that was how James kind of pieced it together by himself that his parents’ names were also Captain America and Black Widow, apart from them being Steve and Natasha Rogers, of course. His Daddy’s shield meant so much more than something he uses in missions or something that James asks to play with, and his Mommy’s gauntlets and batons, as well as her ability to do somersaults and high kicks from when he watches her “dance” (sooner he found that his Mommy doesn’t only dance, but also _ trains _ to fight) meant so much more than just for show-and-tell and talent.

And he finds it _ pretty _cool when he found out that his Uncle Tony is called Iron Man because of his whole robot gear (as what James calls it), his Uncle Thor is just called Thor, but he has a cool power to summon lightning, his Uncle Bruce is called the Hulk (though he’s not particularly sure why because his Uncle Bruce doesn’t want to show him what his powers are), his Uncle Clint is called Hawkeye because of his super sharp shooting with his bow and arrow, and even his Auntie Wanda is called Scarlet Witch because of her cool superpowers when her hands give out red sparks. There’s a lot of names other people call his other uncles too, like Falcon and War Machine and Spiderman, and so he thought this superhero life must be pretty cool.

So yeah, he’s pretty proud of the fact that his parents are Captain America and Black Widow.

But since he’s a big Mommy’s boy, he’s a little bit more biased towards Black Widow.

James adores his Mommy for many things and many reasons. He finds his Mommy very loving, and someone who loves cuddles very much. She always manages to make his mornings brighter by smiling at him and cuddling with him even when he falls asleep fast in her arms if she does so. She doesn’t get mad at him that much, and when she does, she doesn’t get mad for long, and teaches him his lesson from his mistake as gently as she can. She talks to him too when he gets upset and sad, and she always tries to make him laugh so easily. She makes his favorite breakfasts, plays with him all the time, listens to stories of his dreams and his day, and she sings to him too to make him fall asleep. He likes listening to her voice because it’s beautiful, gentle and soothing, just like how he sees his Mommy.

And he also sees how his Mommy interacts with his Daddy. She always makes sure that his Daddy eats his favorite breakfast too, and sometimes when he would be out to fight, she would cook his favorite meal and wait for him to come home. When his Daddy would come home, the first thing she does is to make sure that he’s not hurt, and she kisses him and hugs him, and takes care of him when he is hurt. He finds that his Daddy also adores his Mommy very much, as he would catch him hugging her from behind when she’s in the kitchen cooking, and he would give her kisses all over her face until she giggles and laughs. James also likes hearing his Mommy laugh because she always makes him and his Daddy laugh all the time too.

He thinks his Mommy is pretty perfect, and to learn that she is also a famous superhero called the Black Widow? He’s one pretty damn proud four-year-old for it.

He thinks about it pretty constantly too, how proud he is of being the son of Captain America and Black Widow, and he feels as if should there be a shirt that says that, he’d probably wear it all the time.

He looks up from his drawing while he’s on the floor of his bedroom when his father comes in and he smiles up at his Daddy. “Hey, Jamie, you hungry?” he asks, kneeling down in front of his son.

James nods enthusiastically. “Yeah!” he exclaims. “Are we going to eat with Mommy today?”

Steve nods. “But we have to wait for her a bit,” he says. “She’s still in training, you see. Because remember when Uncle Tony was saying there will be a lot of new people coming in so they can learn how to fight?” He does remember. His Uncle Tony said that they wanted to be superheroes too like his parents. “Well, she’s the one teaching them how to be heroes, so we have to wait for her for a little while. Sound good?”

And James smiles widely at that, because his mother is generous and compassionate enough to teach other people how to be like her. So he nods. “Are we going downstairs?” he asks, and Steve nods.

“Yeah, we are,” Steve answers, smiling at his son. “Why don’t you bring your paper and crayons too? So you can have something to do while we wait?” His smile widens. “Maybe give Mommy a drawing, or something.”

James grins and bounces in his seat. “Give Mommy a drawing! Give Mommy a drawing!” He starts gathering all of his crayons and putting it in the pencil case his Uncle Bucky gave him. Steve chuckles as he watches James stand and retrieve yet again another clean sheet of paper from his table. He grabs the one he’s been drawing on as well and looks up at Steve and tiptoes.

Steve smiles as he stands and lifts James to his hip, pressing a kiss on his son’s cheek. James smiles as he holds the two pieces of paper in his hands as well as the pencil case filled with his art materials, as they walk out of their floor and down to the hall. Steve walks some more to reach the other building connected to the Avengers Tower to the new S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. James watches as agents nod at Steve and smile at James, and he lights up when he recognizes his Auntie Sharon approaching them.

“Hey, you both, especially to you, little guy” Sharon greets, and she grins at James. “You here to wait for your Mommy?”

“Yeah, Daddy said she’s teaching new people how to be superheroes, and then we’re going to eat lunch after.” James answers, and Sharon chuckles, nodding.

“Training’s not over yet?” Steve asks, and Sharon sighs.

“It kinda is, but it wasn’t good,” she answers truthfully. “Nat’s still inside, beating them into shape and all that. We might convene afterwards, though.”

Steve nods. “It’s fine, we’ll wait, won’t we, Jamie?” he asks, and James nods. “That bad, huh?”

Sharon chuckles quietly, shaking her head. “Haven’t seen Nat lose her patience since forever,” she responds quietly. “Gotta go, though. Nice seeing you two.”

“You too. Say bye to Auntie Sharon.”

“Bye, Auntie Sharon!” James says, waving his hand, and Sharon waves back, grinning as she walks past them.

“Well, little guy,” Steve says softly, pulling down James’ shirt that is slightly lifting and revealing his belly button. “It looks like we have to wait a little longer for Mommy. That okay?” James nods. As long as he’ll see his Mommy really soon, he can wait.

And so he and Steve proceed to the training facility’s new cafeteria. They sit on one of the tables, with James sitting on Steve’s lap, with Steve’s one hand holding James steady to him, while his other hand rests on the table, where James had spread all his art materials and paper on it. Steve retrieves whatever color James points to, and he watches fondly as James starts his new drawing. He explains that he wants to draw the three of them as a family holding hands, with Natasha in the middle, so James starts with drawing his mother first, of course.

He just started finishing his mother’s red hair and black suit, about to proceed with a drawing of his Daddy, when they hear a group of people gathering and sitting on the table behind them. “God, that training was hard,” someone, a man, exclaims exasperatedly as they sit down. “And they say it gets easier the longer you stay here.”

Steve stifles a chuckle, as he rests his chin on top of James’ head. He watches as James colors his own red hair, one that mirrors his mother’s, and when James looks up at his father, he smiles, and James grins, bouncing on Steve’s lap as he proceeds to finish his own drawing of himself. Steve doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help but continue to listen, his back still facing them, as he also watches James finish his drawing.

“I think it’s supposed to be the other way around,” someone else, a woman, says. “They just keep on adding more stuff for us to do, and train on. And not that I’m complaining, I _ do _ get they’re all necessary and stuff, but to put us in such a high bar of expectations? I don’t think so.”

“I think it’s doable, though,” another woman says. “I mean, sure, today _ might _ have been a little worse than we’ve imagined it to be, but it was our first day in hand combat and weapons training. Of course, the Black Widow and Agent 13 would be a little...out of patience.”

A man, different from the first one who spoke, scoffs. “It would’ve been doable, really, if it weren’t for Perez pissing the Black Widow off,” he answers, and Steve raises an eyebrow at that. “And screw that, _ you _ managed to piss Agent 13 _ and _ the Black Widow off.”

“Oh man, you are screwed, Perez,” the same woman from earlier snickers. “You just pissed off two of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s top agents on your first day with them.”

A woman, the second one who spoke earlier—Perez, Steve presumes because of the voice—lets out a scoff. “Big deal, Davis. So what?” she exclaims. “They should expect that when it comes to newcomers and fresh trainees like us! It’s not like _ they _ were as perfect when they started.”

“No, they weren’t,” the woman—Davis, Steve _ again _ presumes—responds calmly. “Agent 13 also started out as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who underwent training like us, while the Black Widow had gone through her own training as well, and they’re both remarkable agents and fighters now, Black Widow, especially since she’s _ literally _ S.H.I.E.L.D.’s number one agent in espionage and in combat, _ and _ she’s an Avenger. She’s the epitome of remarkable, really.”

And Steve feels his chest swell with pride, as he presses a kiss on top of James’ head when he starts to draw Steve now. James has a smile on his face, and Steve assumes that he _ could _ be listening to the conversation in the other table as well, especially since he knows how much he adores his mother’s alter ego.

“Remarkable? Did you hear any of the words she just said to us earlier?” Perez continues, letting out a bitter scoff. “She _ literally _ told us we wouldn’t be S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, threatened us with _ more _ training routines and laps, and even power-tripped us by saying she has the power to remove _ all _ of us from being agents. How is _ that _ remarkable?”

“Perez, your shots were inaccurate and you _ literally _ tried to shoot Smith and Bower,” the first man who spoke says. “And to top that, you also tried to shoot Agent 13 when she tried to correct your stance and form. It’s a good thing Agent Romanoff saw it first before you _ actually _ injured her.”

“Agent 13 is a goddamn agent and she should know when someone is pointing a gun at her or not. If I wasn’t stopped, she should know someone was aiming at her if she was that ‘remarkable’,” Perez rambles on loudly, and Steve clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath, but James looks up at him and he puts on a small smile for James, kissing the top of his head and urging him to continue his drawing. “And don’t _ call _ her Agent Romanoff. She’s the Black Widow! And you know what Black Widows do, right?”

“You mean the spider or the former KGB agents?” Davis asks.

“Both! They kill, and they take pleasure from it,” Perez answers. “And Romanoff deserves to be called the Black Widow because that’s exactly what she is. That’s exactly _ who _ she is, and it shows, from the training down to the field, and down to her files, it shows.”

“You read her files?” the second man who spoke earlier asks.

“What, like you didn’t? It's _ literally _ just there on the Internet,” Perez scoffs. “You call her remarkable, but she’s actually ruthless, the worst one of them all, which is how she became the Black Widow. Her first kill was at six years old, and it was her roommate in the Red Room. Even before she joined S.H.I.E.L.D., her main objective was to seduce men and kill them after screwing with them. The file released had the number of the men she killed in her life and the count there was said to not even be the final one. The Black Widow is a murderous whore who enjoys nothing more than sex and murder. And people around here say that she’s Captain America’s _ wife, _ and is the mother of a _ kid? _ Well guess what, I’d _ hate _ to be the Black Widow’s kid, and Captain America deserves _ more _ and better.”

James puts the crayon he’s holding down on the table, and Steve sees that the drawing is still unfinished. He looks up at Steve, his eyes wide and glistening with tears, his bottom lip sticking out and wobbling. “Daddy, why are they being mean?” he asks quietly. “Why are they saying mean things about Mommy?”

And on top of the seething anger Steve is feeling from hearing all of these from a new S.H.I.E.L.D. trainee, his heart breaks when he realizes that James had understood, and had become upset because a majority of what they said about his mother, and all of it, whether understood fully or partially were all mean. James is smart, a bit smarter for his age, so he understands better and speaks better than any other normal four-year-old boy. And even at his age, it’s easy to understand that the things Perez had mentioned about the Black Widow, whom James know by now is his Mommy, are all mean, even without fully understanding every single word of it.

Steve sighs and presses a kiss on James’ forehead as the little boy whimpers and adjusts himself so he can bury his face in his father’s shirt. Steve uses one hand to rub James’ back gently, as he uses the other to put all of James’ crayons back to his pencil case, as he continues to listen to the trainees Perez is with defend Natasha’s name, telling her that her past in the Red Room was a past she’s making up for now by doing good, that she is a good person, friend and teammate, and that she is a loving wife and mother to her family based on the stories they hear from their co-trainees (from their trainers, apparently, all of which are their co-teams in the Avengers, and Steve gives himself a mental note to thank all of them for viewing Natasha in the best way).

But Perez is apparently having none of it, and frankly, so is Steve. He adjusts James so he wraps his arms around his father’s neck and buries his face in the crook of his neck. He takes his son’s pencil case and papers in his free hand. “Whatever, you know what? Read her file. Watch some documentaries about the Red Room,” she says as a finality. “You’ll see that the Black Widow? She’s not as good as you think, and she will _ never _ be good as how you think she is now. If I were the one who runs S.H.I.E.L.D., she wouldn’t be top agent. They should consider moral standards as part of the assessment, you know.”

Steve stands. “You know what, they should,” he says, turning around to meet the faces of the four trainees on the table behind them. Their eyes go wide, and they all put their sandwiches down on their respective trays. “They _ should _ consider moral standards as part of the assessment, especially in considering which trainees deserve to be called agents of S.H.I.E.L.D..” Steve’s eyes narrow, and his eyes land on a blonde woman, who is probably the same age as Wanda, with her face pale, and her eyes unable to meet Steve’s.

“C-Captain Rogers.” one of the male trainees stammer as a greeting, and Steve nods.

“Sorry to interrupt. But Perez, right? Did I get that right?” Steve asks, and she nods, without meeting his eyes. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” Perez lifts her eyes slowly, afraidly to meet Steve’s narrowed cold blue eyes.

Steve thinks of getting mad, laying out a litany, an ultimatum, that if he ever hears another person speak ill of his wife, or the mother of his son, he will do this and that that will make their lives miserable, but then he realizes he may not be taken too seriously since he has his son on his hip with a pencil case filled with art materials and papers filled with drawings. And he realizes that he’s bigger than that, _ better _ than that, especially now he knows his son is listening to him, and he is upset by what he had just heard, and he doesn’t want to make what James is feeling now become worse.

So instead, he nudges James slightly. “This is James,” he says softly, and James lifts his head to look at the four trainees, his eyes still moist and cheeks a bit damp. “James Iosef Rogers, my son with Agent Romanoff, the Black Widow, my wife.” He looks at Perez who swallows, and is sweating profusely as her eyes are still trained on Steve’s. “He just heard what you’ve been saying about her earlier, especially you, Perez. James heard everything, _ I _ heard everything.” He looks at James who is now frowning at them. “What do you say to that, Jamie?”

James looks at his father and furrows his eyebrows, his frown deepening as he looks back at them. “Why are you being mean to Mommy?” he asks in a small voice, but then his voice grows louder. “Why are you being mean to my Mommy?”

The four trainees freeze in their seats, and Steve narrows his eyes at them. “Answer the kid, Perez.” he says in a low voice.

He feels petty, and in hindsight, maybe he should be dealing with this in another way, but he finds this one more satisfactory and better.

Perez gulps and takes a shaky breath. “I...I didn’t mean to.” she says quietly.

“You’re being mean to my Mommy!” James exclaims, his eyes filling with tears again. “Because you don’t know my Mommy! She’s the nicest and kindest and bestest Mommy there is, and you’re saying bad things about her. My Mommy is not bad! _ You _ are! Because you keep saying bad things about other people, and my Mommy said you shouldn’t do that!”

“I’m sorry.” Perez whispers.

“Say that to my Mommy!” James exclaims as more tears fall from his eyes, and he lays his head on his father’s shoulder, pulling himself closer to him.

Perez winces and looks away, and Steve looks at all of them. “As a husband who had just overheard all the things you said about my wife,” he starts, and he looks at the three trainees. “Thank you for thinking that she is remarkable, because she _ is. _ And thank you for thinking that she is good, because she _ is, _ most of the time even beyond what good can cover.” The three trainees smile tentatively at him but they still look down.

“And as for you who said all of those mean things about my wife, I hope that meeting me, and meeting James, can prove at least what you thought about her otherwise,” Steve continues as he looks at Perez. “Because if it were up to me, it’s me who doesn’t deserve her, not the other way around. She’s too loving, too patient and too compassionate, and if you’re quick to judge someone whom you barely know if you are to say otherwise.”

Steve takes a deep breath. “And as Captain America, the Black Widow’s teammate and partner, as well as Agent 13’s teammate as well,” he says. “I suggest that if you were to talk about your instructors, do it so among yourselves in your private quarters. Follow your instructors during trainings, because, contrary to what _ some _of you may think, we do know better.” Perez looks up at him, her eyes wide and afraid. “And for the record, S.H.I.E.L.D. takes into account moral standards when they rank their agents into levels.” He smirks. “And Agent Romanoff is still on a higher level than me even then.”

The trainees’ eyes widen as they look at each other, save for Perez, whose eyes widen in surprise. “Perez, report to your team leader immediately, and report to him or her what you just did in your training with Agent 13 and Agent Romanoff. The three of you, I want you to make sure it happens,” he says, and the three nod quickly as Perez looks away. “Report as well that you outrightly disrespected an Avenger, and tell him or her that it was Captain Rogers who sent you.”

Steve takes one last look at the four new trainees and he turns and walks toward the exit door, but despite the seething and burning anger and irritation he feels inside his chest, his heart still flutters when he sees Natasha enter the cafeteria. He sighs and stops, and looks back at the four trainees who watch as Natasha walks over to where Steve and James are. His eyes land on Perez, who looks at Natasha almost disbelievingly. But Natasha doesn’t seem to mind them nor notice them, and she smiles when she sees her boys.

“There you two are,” she says softly, smiling. And when James heard her voice, his head lifts and he pouts, extending his arms to be carried by Natasha, who takes him and presses soft kisses on his forehead, the tip of his nose and his two cheeks. Steve sighs as he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close as he leans down to press a chaste kiss on her lips. “I’m sorry it took a while, I promise I’ll tell _ everything _ later.”

But Steve shakes his head. “No need,” he says quietly, and he looks back at the four trainees who are still watching them cautiously but carefully. “I think I heard what happened.”

Natasha furrows her eyebrows in confusion and follows his line of sight, landing to the four trainees who, upon her eyes landing on them, had quickly turned to resume their lunch. Natasha takes a moment of pause and then her expression softens and she sighs as she turns back to look up at Steve who is looking at her sadly.

“Steve,” she says softly, lifting a hand to run it through her husband’s hair, her hand resting on the side of his face. She smiles, as her thumb brushes his cheek gently. “You know I don’t care. I don’t care whatever they say about me, whether it be good or bad. Only what you and James, and our close friends say matter.” She shakes her head. “I don’t care.”

“But I do,” Steve answers quietly, resting a hand over hers. “I do, and James does too.”

Natasha frowns, and she pulls her hand away to rub James’ back gently. “Is that why my little boy is so upset?” she asks quietly, and James whimpers, burying his face in the crook of Natasha’s neck. “Did the new trainees make you upset, little one?” She feels James nod against her neck, and she presses a kiss on his head as she sighs, closing her eyes to rest her head against her son’s.

Steve sighs and takes her hand in his, intertwining their fingers together, as Natasha opens her eyes. “Come on, how about a good lunch, hm?” he asks softly, giving Natasha a small smile. “Let’s invite Sam, Bucky, Sharon and Wanda, we’ll have takeout and all in the communal kitchen.”

Natasha smiles and nods. “I like that,” she says softly. She pulls away slightly to look at James. “You hear that, baby? We’ll have lunch with Uncle Sam, Uncle Bucky, Auntie Sharon and Auntie Wanda.”

James lifts his head at the mention of his favorite uncles and aunts and he smiles and nods. Natasha presses a kiss on the tip of James’ nose and the boy giggles. “Sounds good.” Natasha tells Steve softly with a smile.

* * *

That night, as his Mommy tucks him in bed, she sits down on the edge of his bed beside him, smiling down as she leans to press a kiss on his forehead. James smiles, and she runs her fingers through his red hair, one that mirrors hers. The gesture soothes him, and he almost falls asleep too immediately.

“Hey, little guy,” James opens his eyes and hums as he looks at his mother who smiles at him. “Daddy told me what you said to those trainees a while ago, when they were saying bad things about me.”

Is he in trouble? He didn’t really say anything bad to them, none that would upset his Mommy, anyway. And he was upset at what happened, at what they said about his Mommy, so he was just trying to defend her, protect her, like how she protects him. “They were being mean to you, Mommy,” he says in a small voice. “They say you’re bad, but you’re not. You’re good, Mommy, good like Daddy and all other superheroes.”

Natasha’s eyes start filling with tears as she smiles sweetly at James. “Thank you, baby,” she says softly. James smiles up at his Mommy and she leans down to press another kiss on his forehead. “Thank you for saying that about me.” She runs her fingers through his hair again. “I hope when you grow up, you don’t become like them, okay? Don’t say bad things about other people, and always, _ always _ try to see the good in them, okay? Because there is always something good in all people, _ always. _”

“Okay, Mommy,” James says, and Natasha smiles and nods. “Love you, Mommy.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle and her smile widens. “I love you too, little one,” she answers softly, and she taps her cheek. “Give Mommy a kiss?” James leans to peck her on the cheek. She then taps the tip of her nose. “Kiss Mommy again?” James giggles as he leans up to peck Natasha on the tip of the nose, and she laughs softly.

And like James said, he likes hearing his Mommy laugh.

“Mommy, sing?” he asks, and his Mommy nods and positions to lie down beside James, pulling him in closer to her, as he rests his head on the pillow beside Natasha’s. She presses another kiss on the side of his head as she begins to hum, and he listens, as he allows his eyes to fall close, the thoughts and drama of the day fade and dissipate away, as he focuses only on his mother’s love conveyed through her voice, and through the fingers stroking his hair softly, her thumb brushing her cheek gently and lovingly, and he allows himself to fall into a peaceful sleep.

That Perez girl is wrong about everything she said about his Mommy. But he’s sure that she’s very wrong about one thing she assumed, because he’s pretty damn _ proud _ and happy to be the Black Widow’s son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Sharon is portrayed and described as a teammate and one of the people building a new S.H.I.E.L.D. because I am a firm believer that she is more than just a love interest and has a wider character arc than that of portrayed in the MCU. I just love her so much :(
> 
> Prompts, comments and kudos much appreciated. Don't forget to share it to your friends too!


	17. I See You (And Only You) Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17\. How Steve sees Natasha.
> 
> "“She’s amazing, isn’t she, little one? Your Mommy’s the best Mommy there is, yeah?” he coos, leaning down to press a kiss on his cheek. James squeals and giggles, clapping his hands, and Natasha laughs, her laugh melodious and beautiful in Steve’s ears."

“Come here, James, come to Mommy.”

Steve smiles as he looks up from his laptop, and finds James on the mat slowly walking towards Natasha’s open arms. The baby gurgles and giggles and squeals when Natasha catches him in her arms, pulling him to her chest as she praises him, peppering his face with kisses and murmurs of love.

“Now go to Daddy,” Natasha says, looking up at him with a wide smile and sparkling eyes. He grins as he watches her put James back down on his feet, orienting him towards Steve’s direction on the couch. James giggles as he waves his arms around as he looks up at Steve, who puts his laptop beside him and extends his arm at the baby. “Come on, Jamie, now go to Daddy.” Natasha follows on her knees as James takes his wobbly steps towards Steve, always ready to catch her baby when he falls. When he doesn’t, relief washes over her face, and a proud smile appears as well.

“Good job, buddy.” Steve praises, gathering James in his arms and pressing a kiss on his cheek. James giggles and claps his hands as he sits James down on his lap. He takes Steve’s thumb and sucks on it and Steve laughs, looking over at Natasha, sitting on her heels on the floor, smiling widely as she watches James.

And Steve doesn’t think she’d ever seen her more beautiful than she is now (and he thinks about that every single day, but he figured maybe it’s just because Natasha just becomes more beautiful as the days pass. Motherhood and domesticity suit her well). He remembers telling her this when she was still pregnant with James, telling her how beautiful she is as each day passes.

“You just tell me that to shut me up about how fat I’m becoming.” she replied once, on the verge of tears as she pouted at him while she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She was a week away from her due date back then, and had called him in while he was in the kitchen to help her stand since she needed to go to the bathroom (again).

“You’re not fat,” Steve told her, walking over to her as he pulled her up from the bed. “You’re carrying our child,  _ our _ son. It’s the most beautiful sight to see.”

“You mean to say I was less beautiful on our wedding day? Smooth talk, Rogers.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head, kissing the side of her head. “You become more beautiful every day, and you’ve been beautiful since the day we met,” he said, holding her hand in his as he walks with her slowly to the bathroom. “So yeah, you’re more beautiful today than on our wedding day.”

And Natasha attributed his words to his lack of sleep the past few weeks, but Steve knew she believed his words to be true, if not for the blush creeping up on her cheeks and the smile she was trying her best to hide. He was rewarded later that night for his words.

James wiggles in Steve’s grip as he leans down, wanting to go back down on the floor. Steve chuckles as he puts James down again, and he giggles when he starts wobbling his way back to Natasha.

“Mama!” James squeals as he extends his arms towards his mother. Natasha’s face lights up as she opens her arms and eventually catches the baby who giggles when he feels his mother’s arms lift him up.

“He likes you more.” Steve says, smirking, and Natasha laughs, shaking her head as she stands. Steve takes the laptop from the space on the couch beside him, resting it on the table in front of them, and Natasha sits beside him, pulling James to sit on her lap, letting his head rest back on her chest. The baby burrows himself, shifting so he is facing up at his father. Steve grins, and James gurgles, reaching for his father’s hand again.

“I’m the milk giver, so of course he likes me more.” she teases, raising an eyebrow and Steve laughs, smoothing his thumb over James’ small hand that’s wrapping around his finger. He extends his other arm to wrap around Natasha’s shoulder, pulling her closer to kiss the side of her head.

“He’s a Rogers too,” he points out. “Which means it’s only natural he likes you  _ a lot _ .” Natasha laughs softly, shaking her head as she leans up to press a chaste kiss on her husband’s lips.

“What’s got you all smooth in your words today, hm?” she asks softly, her smile wide and genuinely happy. Steve grins and shrugs.

“I just want to let my wife know how amazing she is, that’s all,” he says and Natasha smiles.

James looks up at his mother and smiles, as if understanding Steve’s words and agreeing to it, and Natasha chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss on the tip of his nose. Steve smiles. “She’s amazing, isn’t she, little one? Your Mommy’s the best Mommy there is, yeah?” he coos, leaning down to press a kiss on his cheek. James squeals and giggles, clapping his hands, and Natasha laughs, her laugh melodious and beautiful in Steve’s ears.

“You’re just biased,” Natasha tells Steve, her smile not fading from her face. “And  _ you _ , little man, you’re just as biased as your Daddy, huh?” She leans to pepper James’ face with kisses, making the baby laugh, his arms reaching out to press on either side of Natasha’s face, James’ smile toothless but wide and beautiful.

He’s not biased, neither of them are. Steve smiles and shakes his head. She’s an amazing mother, and it’s seen through James’ numerous laughter and frequent smiles. He’s seen great mothers, and he grew up with one, so he knows that Natasha’s a great mother, and an  _ amazing _ one at that.

He remembers Natasha crying one night, on the day they found out she was pregnant with James. They were taking shelter in a small apartment in Ordino, when she decided to check in a nearby hospital because she had been feeling sick for a few weeks. They had been excited at first, of course, especially when Steve came home and Natasha was able to show an ultrasound photo to him, explaining to him that that was the picture of their five-week old baby growing inside of her. They celebrated as much as they can, when Steve decided to risk going out by taking her out to a nice restaurant the following day.

They had been careful, of course, because this was the first time in a long time that they would treat themselves out of their safe house. Their apartment in Andorra was the seventh safe house they had since Bucky, Sam and Wanda separated from them, and they’re planning to move again soon. Despite Andorra’s neutrality in the Accords, they still couldn’t afford to risk it especially when Ross tracks their movement. So they worked to make sure they weren’t as recognizable, with Natasha dyeing her hair once again to ensure the blonde will cover any traces of red hair, and Steve had dyed his hair and beard again to brown. The night went by smoothly, with the couple celebrating a new addition to their family, like a light in the midst of the darkness they’re experiencing by being on the run and hiding from the government hunting them down.

And that night, the reality seemed to have hit Natasha. She cried, as silently as she could, when she thought Steve was asleep after a very intimate night that followed after dinner. But Steve had grown to be more attuned to what Natasha was feeling, so of course, he woke up to feel her slightly trembling in his arms, and when she turned, he felt wetness on her cheeks.

“I can’t do this, Steve,” she cried. “I’m scared. This isn’t the life for a child, this isn’t the life for  _ our _ child.”

_ Our child _ . Steve pushed down the flutter in his heart as she said it, as Steve kissed the tears on her cheeks, holding her close. “You don’t have to do it alone, sweetheart,” he said softly, letting her sob on his chest. “I’m here. We can do it. We  _ will _ do it together, I promise.”

“I don’t know how to be a mother, Steve,” she mumbled, amidst sniffles and sobs. “I don’t know how, and I don’t want to screw this one up.” She sobs harder. “I don’t want to be a bad mother, but I know I  _ will _ be a bad mother, Steve.”

Steve kissed the top of Natasha’s head, and pulled away slightly to kiss the tip of her nose, both of her cheeks. “Look at me,” he said softly, and Natasha took deep breaths before she looked at him, her eyes wide, red-rimmed and still glistening with unshed tears. Steve’s heart broke at how small and helpless she looked, when he knows she’s not, when he knows she’s the strongest, fiercest and most loving woman he had ever come to know, and so he told her that.

“You are strong, you are beautiful, you are compassionate, and you are loving. I should know, because I’ve been on the other end of your love and compassion. You care so much, and you have a lot of love in your heart,” His hand slides down to rest on her still flat belly. “And this baby,  _ our _ baby will be the luckiest child there is to be on the receiving end of that love and care that you are so capable of giving. I know I’m lucky enough to receive your love and care everyday, so I can only imagine how much love you’ll give our baby.” Natasha hiccuped, and another wave of fresh tears ran down her cheeks. “You love our baby, yeah? You love him or her, even now when he or she’s not here yet?” Natasha nodded quickly, and with confidence, mouthing a small ‘yes’ to Steve. “Yeah? Then I’m just excited to how much you’ll be able to love them when they get here. You’re already a great mother by loving them, Nat. Please believe me.”

Steve wiped away her tears and smiled down at her. “And I’ll be here,” he said softly. “I’ll be here to protect you, both of you. We’ll do this together, okay? We’ll be a team, and we’ll do this right together.”

It had been a promise, which is how they got to Wakanda, because Steve had reached out to T’challa, taking up the offer the king had offered to them quite some time ago. They figured they would be safe here, and when Steve told the king of their situation, he wholeheartedly took them in, and they had been safe and sound ever since.

Natasha looks up at him, and finds him looking at her, a fond and soft smile on his face. Her face immediately colors into a blush and she giggles, pulling James closer to her body. “What?” she asks softly, and Steve chuckles, shaking his head as he leans to press a soft kiss on her lips.

“Nothing.” he replies, and Natasha hums, pressing a kiss again on his lips.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” she replies and Steve chuckles.

“Just remembering how lucky we are,” he says softly. “How lucky James and I are to have you.”

Natasha smiles at that, ducking her head at the compliment. He’s said it many times before since James was born, and even before that. She’s probably sick of hearing it, and on some days, she’d believe him, and some days she won’t, but he won’t get sick of telling her that if it meant that at the end of everything, she’ll believe it in herself too.

And that evening, after dinner, when he walks out of the kitchen to find Natasha carrying James close to her chest, swaying and dancing with their baby to an old slow song in the living room, her forehead resting against James’, a contented and wide smile on her face as she hums and sings softly to the baby, her one hand holding James’ small one, he feels warmth spreading in his chest as he can’t help the smile forming on his face at the sight in front of him. He had never seen Natasha more content, at peace, and so beautiful with their son clutched to her chest, swaying along to the music she must have played on their stereo.

James giggles and Natasha presses a kiss on the tip of his nose, and Steve just couldn’t help but grin.

Yeah, they’re pretty damn lucky to have Natasha in their lives.

He walks over to them, one hand resting on the small of Natasha’s back, and she smiles up at him as he takes her hand clutching James’ in his. He sways them along to the music, pulling his family closer to him, as he leans down to press a kiss on James’ head, and on Natasha’s lips. James claps his hands between them and the two adults laugh softly, as they dance the night away in their living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, comments and prompts, pretty please?


	18. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18\. Prompt: "Nat taking care of James when he gets sick for the first time."
> 
> "James whimpers as Natasha adjusts James so he can rest his head on Natasha’s shoulder as she lifts him back to his earlier position. She hears him wheeze as he breathes, and her heart breaks as she thinks of how difficult it must be to breathe in James’ position."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A one-shot stuck in my word dump but became a prompt requested by Faith2nyc. Thanks for all your kind comments in my works, and for your lovely prompt. I hope you'll love this one!

When Natasha first found out she was pregnant with James, she remembered thinking, “How the hell am I supposed to be a mother?”

And it wasn’t at all because she thought of herself so lowly, unworthy and uncaring for to be one (she did, of course, but she forced herself to push those thoughts aside when Steve eased her into the idea of parenthood, and when he kept on convincing her that she was going to be good, she became okay), but it was really because she had absolutely  _ no _ idea how to be one.

She made a mental checklist of the things she knew about babies, learning from her experience with handling the Barton kids when Cooper and Lila were still babies. She knew how to hold one (Laura taught her the proper way how to), she knew they cried a lot, pooped a lot, drank a lot of milk, and slept a lot too. She knew they needed to be talked to, cuddled with all the time because they couldn’t understand the words “I love you” yet, but they can understand it through the way their mothers would hold and handle them. She also knew that newborns have to be held close against their mother’s skin, just near her heart because it’s the only sound they’re familiar with, and it was the only way to let them know that the person holding them is their mother.

And so when James was born, she kept in mind all those things, as she and Steve instantly fell in love with their little baby boy, their light in the dark world they thought they lived in, hope at the end of their dark tunnel. Natasha held him near her heart, her bare chest in contact with his head so he can listen to her heart that was beating for him, beating for her little James. And as time passed, she got to experience the rest: James’ constant crying (and her and Steve’s lack of sleeping time and alone quality time with each other), her nursing him, cleaning him up when he pooped and watching him as he slept, and her cuddling and playing with him constantly, and even if he couldn’t understand her, she still constantly whispers to him how much Mommy loves him, and how much Daddy loves him, and she thinks that he would understand too, because of the smiles he would give them.

But over time, she got to learn a lot of other things too. She learned that James would sometimes be content if he wouldn’t be playing with his toys, but would spend time just babbling and playing with his Mommy and Daddy. She learned how important it is to expose James to the outside world, and Wakanda was a perfect place to expose James to their lovely environment. She learned how to encourage and teach James how to say Mama and Dada, how to roll, sit up, crawl, and even toddle a few steps on his own. She also learned that it was okay if he would fall flat on his face in an attempt to take a few steps, since it was a way for him to learn independently on his own how to walk, and he did, and his Mommy and Daddy were proud of him because of it.

But if there was one thing she has yet to learn how to deal with in her almost one year of motherhood, it was on how to take care of a baby when he’s sick.

And it happened when Steve happened to be out in a mission with T’challa and Bucky, one of those rare overseas missions the king promised to the family would be less. He did fulfill the promise, it was just that  _ this _ particular one was off-timing.

James had been sleepy and grumpy the previous day, and Natasha figured that maybe it was because he was tired, or he missed his Daddy. He slept a bit earlier than his normal sleeping time, and Natasha didn’t pay much attention to it. But she was woken up that morning crying, and it was before the sun even rose. So Natasha woke up to her baby softly calling for her amid his small and soft cries. “Mama,” he called in his small and weak voice. “Mama.” She opened the lamp on the nightstand beside their bed and blinked several times, willing herself to be alert at such an ungodly hour in the morning.

“Hey, little guy,” she cooed softly, getting up to walk over to his cot bed she transferred to her and Steve’s room in moments when he’d be out for missions. She picked him up, and James whimpered, wrapping his arms around his mother’s neck and burying his face in the crook of her neck. “What’s wrong, baby? You hungry?”

“Mama.” James cried softly, and when she tried to pull away, James just pulled his mother closer, wrapping his arms around her neck a little tighter, and crying even harder.

“What’s wrong, Jamie?” she asked, and only when she rested her hand on James’ head that she felt it.

He was warm, and it wasn’t the warmth that she usually felt when she was with Steve, or not even the natural body heat her son emitted. He was alarmingly warmer, like he was sick.

James cried harder, squirming in her arms, clinging tighter to his mother, as Natasha rubbed his back gently. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she shushed, but her mind was running a million miles per minute, trying to figure out what was wrong, what she could do, what she was  _ supposed _ to do because she’d never done this. This never happened, and she never imagined it would happen either. “It’s okay, baby, Mommy’s here. Mommy’s got you.”

And then James started coughing, his head turning away from his mother’s neck as he coughed loudly, and it wasn’t even the dry coughs Natasha was familiar with. It was the other one, the mucus-filled one, and as James breathed for another fit of coughs above his soft whimpers and cries, she heard wheezing. James cried harder, but he was wheezing, and he was coughing, and as she shushed and rubbed her hand on James’ small back, she felt his back rise and fall almost with great difficulty, as if he was heaving, as if he was having difficulty breathing.

“Mama,” James cried, as another wave of coughs filled him, and Natasha’s heart broke as he wheezed and breathed deeply, with great difficulty. “Mama.”

“I’m here, Jamie,” Natasha said softly, rubbing his back and bouncing and swaying him gently, her mind still reeling, willing herself to move,  _ do something _ to make her baby feel better, but she has to know what’s happening. She pressed her lips on James’ head, pulling him closer to her chest. “Does it hurt, baby? Where does it hurt? Tell Mommy where it hurts.”

But James couldn’t speak anything more clearly than “Mama” and “Dada”, and a few other words. So he babbled in syllables, as James cried more, wheezed and coughed more, and clung to his mother tightly, as if almost pleading her to help him, make him feel better. He called for her again, and babbled again, and Natasha’s heart broke because she couldn’t understand him. He was trying to tell her what’s wrong, where it hurt, but she couldn’t understand him.

She went over to the bathroom, opened the lights and retrieved a towel. She continued to shush and press kisses on his head as she used her one hand to wet the cloth on the sink. She walked back into the bedroom and laid on the bed, resting James on top of her chest. The baby clung tightly to her, as he continued to cry and squirm. He whimpered for her again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, baby,” Natasha said, adjusting James on her chest as she folded the cold wet towel in thirds. “I’m not going anywhere, Mommy’s not going anywhere.”

She rested the cool towel against James’ warm forehead. The baby flinched at first, but later relaxed in her arms. “It’s good?” she asked softly, and James’ cries soften, turning into whimpers. He still wheezed as he breathed, but his breathing later relaxed. “Feeling a bit better?”

She thought of waking up Shuri, perhaps to ask her what was wrong, ask her to check on James, but thought better against it when James started to loosen his grip on her. Natasha wrapped both of her arms around her son, pulling a blanket over them, and pressing kisses on top of his head. She watched as his eyes slowly flutter close, as he further relaxed in his mother’s arms. Natasha hummed a soft lullaby, effectively making James fall asleep in her arms. Maybe it was just a small, passing fever. James was going to be fine, he’s not  _ that _ sick.

Or so she thought.

She wakes up again, and this time she finds James, while still asleep, shaking in her arms. She wraps the blanket around James tighter, thinking that maybe he is feeling cold, but it wasn’t even  _ that _ cold inside the room. She puts away the towel on James’ forehead, and when her hand rests on his forehead, she flinches her hand away.

Her son is burning up.

So she immediately wraps James in her blanket, her heart hammering inside her chest as she gets up from the bed. She balances James in one arm as she puts on one of her coats hanging by the door of their bedroom. And in the process, James starts to squirm awake in her arms, and starts crying, clinging to his mother tightly as he calls for her softly.

“Mommy’s here, Jamie,” Natasha says, rubbing her hand on the baby’s back, and James just starts crying and screaming louder, his cries tied with wheezes more evident and worse than this morning. He calls for his Mama again, and Natasha’s heart breaks as all she can do is rub her hand on his back as he coughs and wheezes and shakes in his arms. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll make it okay.”

James starts talking in vague syllables, his little fists rubbing on his eyes and all over his head as he lifts his head and faces his mother, and his face scrunches up further as he wails and cries, and Natasha wants to  _ cry, _ and break down because James is trying to tell her something, point out what was wrong, but she couldn’t understand. James can’t say anything clearly beyond Mama, and it’s all she can understand. James is imploring his mother to make him feel better, ease whatever pain he is feeling, but she can’t understand. She doesn’t know what to do, because she cannot understand whatever it is her baby is telling her.

She can’t understand, and it makes her feel like the  _ worst _ mother for not doing so.

“James, please tell Mommy what’s wrong,” Natasha can do nothing but plead as she brushes James’ mussed red hair, and the baby just cries and coughs and shakes. “Please, little one, I’m trying, Mommy’s trying to figure it out.”

And James’ head falls on her shoulder as his little arms wrap around her neck. He squirms yet again, and gets into another fit of wet coughs, as he wheezes and cries, and his back arches and squirms as Natasha rubs her hand against his back. Natasha holds the tears back, and walk over to the living room, ready to walk down the hall into Shuri’s lab to ask for the princess’ help. And so she opens the door, and there she finds Shuri, her hand lifted to knock on the door, and she feels a weight lift off her chest.

Shuri’s eyes widen in surprise, as she meets with Natasha’s wide green eyes glistening with unshed tears, but she quickly recovers. “I am sorry, I was passing by, and I heard crying and screaming,” she says softly, and her eyes land on James wrapped up in a blanket and still clinging to his mother. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” Natasha says, shaking her head as her voice breaks, as she pulls her son closer to her. “N-no, I think James is sick, and he’s...he’s been burning up since last night, and I thought-I thought he was fine, and Steve’s not here, and—” She pauses as she feels her throat constrict as her heart starts breaking because James starts crying louder, squirming and shaking in her arms.

“We are going to be fine,” Shuri assures her softly, resting her hand on Natasha’s arm, and giving her a small smile. “Come on, let us have the doctors to take a quick look at James.”

So Natasha follows Shuri down the hall and into the palace medical wing. She speaks to a few doctors in their native language, probably laying them some instructions, grabbing a lab coat as two male doctors follow her, with Natasha behind them as she shushes and murmurs to James in her arms, still shaking and whimpering softly.

They lead her to a small check-up room, and one of the doctors lead Natasha to the small bed where she sits down on the edge. “We will just be doing some routine procedures with James, just to find out what is wrong,” Shuri says. “Is it okay if you let James sit on your lap?”

Natasha nods and gently pulls away from James who cries when she pulls away. “No, no, it’s okay, baby,” she coos. “I’m not going to leave, okay? Mommy’s just here.” She pulls away gently and sits James on her lap, as the baby looks up, his eyes landing on Shuri who crouches down in eye level with James. He whimpers a bit and pouts, his bottom lip sticking out and wobbling as more tears fill his eyes.

“Hello, little one,” Shuri greets softly. She pulls out an ear thermometer and puts it in James’ ear, as James rubs his eyes with his fists, Natasha holding him closer to her by his small body. “Your Mama said you are a little sick? We will see about that.”

Shuri pulls the thermometer away when it beeped, and she frowns. “What is it?” Natasha asks softly.

“100.4, low fever, but fever still,” the princess answers softly. “Did you say he has been having fever since last night?” Natasha nods.

“H-he’s also been coughing, and wheezing, and I think he’s in pain because he’s been squirming and crying,” she answers quietly, and she feels her heart break as James adjusts himself so he is burrowing himself against his mother’s shirt. “And this morning, when he woke up he’s been having chills, I think.”

James lets out a coughing fit, as one of the doctors produce an oximeter. He speaks to Shuri in their native language and she nods. “We will be clipping something on his toe,” she tells Natasha. “It will help if you would maybe hold him, and this is to help us monitor James, maybe find out what is wrong.”

Shuri removes one of James’ socks slowly as Natasha presses a kiss on top of James’ head. He sniffles and Shuri notices this, so she grabs a piece of tissue and gently wipes James’ nose. She gives the tissue to one of the doctors who nods and steps out of the room.

“James, open up your mouth and say ‘ah’,” Shuri tells James. James opens his mouth obediently, and Shuri uses her small flashlight to check inside James’ mouth, and the princess frowns, telling something again to the male doctor, who retrieves his stethoscope and looks at Natasha for approval and permission, as Natasha nods. “We will be checking his breathing, something in his lungs maybe, because you said he was wheezing?”

“Yeah, had a difficult time breathing too.” Natasha says. The male doctor listens as he moves his stethoscope on James’ back, and the baby just continues to breathe and wheeze uneasily on his mother’s lap, his face cuddled against his mother’s shirt. The doctor moves to check on his chest.

“Your baby has a slight wheezing sound when he breathes out, yes?” the male doctor asks, and Natasha nods. “There is this sort of rattling sound in his lungs when he breathes, usually because of a clogged airway.” The male doctor looks at Shuri then back at James. “Princess Shuri had retrieved a mucus sample from the baby’s nose, so we have yet to find out what is happening.”

“But what’s...what’s the initial diagnosis?” Natasha asks quietly, holding James closer to his arms.

The other doctor comes back, and the three speak in their native language as they discuss. James looks up at his mother and pouts. “Mama.” he calls out softly, extending his arms to reach for his mother’s face. Natasha leans down to press a small kiss on James’ forehead, and on the tip of his nose, and she rubs their noses together as James rests his small warm hands on Natasha’s cheeks.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby,” she whispers, kissing the tip of his nose again, and James sniffles. “Mommy’s going to fix this, okay? Mommy’s going to fix you.”

James whimpers as Natasha adjusts him so he can rest his head on Natasha’s shoulder as she lifts him back to his earlier position. She hears him wheeze as he breathes, and her heart breaks as she thinks of how difficult it must be to breathe in James’ position.

Her baby just wants to breathe, how can the universe be so cruel in making it hard for him to do so?

“Our initial diagnosis is correct,” Shuri says, and Natasha looks up at the three doctors again. “Acute bronchitis. Nothing serious, but we do have to take some measures for James to feel better.”

Natasha blinks. “W-what can we do? Are there some medicine for it?” she asks quietly.

Shuri hums as she looks up at the male doctor speaking to Natasha earlier. “There are no medicines yet for the baby, since he is very young, so he is not allowed yet to take tablets,” he explains gently. “We do suggest a humidifier in your baby’s room to keep the air clean, and also plenty of fluids. We will also suggest you accompany your baby to inhale steam.”

“Steam?” Natasha asks dumbly.

“It will help make the baby breathe easier, the mucus in his lungs better to cough up,” the doctor answers. “It will be uncomfortable, of course, but it is necessary, and it will help speed up the process for healing.”

“Plenty of rest too for the little one,” Shuri adds. “So no playing outside a room without a humidifier, which I will give later when you go up in your room.” Natasha nods. “We will give you a cooling pad to help lower the fever, and some medicine too.” Shuri nods at the two doctors who nod and step out of the room, probably to retrieve the medicine James needs. She turns back at Natasha and Shuri smiles. “It will be okay, Nat. James is going to be okay.”

Natasha sighs, rubbing James’ back gently. “I didn’t know what to do,” she tells her softly, honestly. “I-I didn’t think he was going to get sick, but he did.”

Shuri nods. “Captain’s super soldier serum is yet to kick in inside James’ body, so his immune system is that of a normal baby’s still, and normal babies get sick,” she explains. “This is not your fault, Nat.”

Natasha’s eyes start filling with tears as she presses James closer to her chest. “He was trying to tell me what’s wrong, but I couldn’t understand him,” she says quietly. “He can’t talk yet, so I couldn’t...I couldn’t understand he was in pain, or...or he couldn’t breathe.”

_ My baby just wanted to breathe,  _ she thinks,  _ and I didn’t even understand that. _

Shuri nods understandingly. “But that does not make you a bad mother, Nat,” she tells her softly, a small smile on her face as if she heard what Natasha was thinking. “James is a baby, and even though you cannot understand what he was saying, you knew something was wrong, and you did something about it. You also held him through it, did everything you can to make him feel better, and even asked for help. Most mothers in Wakanda do not do that, because they think they know everything, but they really do not.”

“They did what they could,” Natasha says quietly. “I didn’t. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You did. You never left James,” she answers, and the princess smiles widely. “You are a good mother, Nat. I have seen great mothers, even happened to grow up with one. You  _ are _ a good mother.”

The validation had always meant something to Natasha, especially when it comes from Steve, but she supposed that it’s different when someone else says it. It meant more, and objective in a sense, which meant that she probably  _ was _ doing okay. She probably is good, in a sense.

And it makes her smile.

The two doctors come back, and one of them administer a liquid medicine to James, while the other one gives Natasha the cooling pads and the liquid medicine to give James every four hours to lower the fever and make the mucus lighter. They instruct Natasha to let James have his rest first, and how the cooling pad should be prepared, and when he wakes up, to let him breathe some warm steam in their bathroom. After she expresses her gratitude, and James eventually calms in her arms, Shuri leads them back into their room, where she promises she will be back with the humidifier in a few hours.

Natasha lays James down on their bed after giving him a sippy cup full of water to drink and a small bowl of fruits for his breakfast that she feeds him. James takes a deep breath, and while Natasha still hears the wheeze, she calms herself down, because she knows what she is doing now, and she knows that James will be fine. She wipes James’ body with a cool towel before changing his clothes and diaper into newer and fresher ones, before laying the cooling pad on his small forehead. She lays beside him, and cuddles him against her as she presses a kiss on the side of his head, humming a lullaby and gently patting his leg until James eventually falls asleep again.

She stays beside her son for a while, before she cooks breakfast for herself and taking a quick bath for her own change of clothes. Shuri comes in after a while, bringing with her the humidifier she promised, and Natasha sets it up inside the room. Afterwards, she sits beside James on the bed and grabs her phone, dialing Steve’s number, praying to God that she is not interrupting anything.

“Hello?” Steve’s voice comes in on the second ring, and Natasha feels like she can breathe again.

“Hey,” Natasha greets softly. “Just checking in. How are you?”

“Great, we’re fine,” Steve says lightly, and Natasha can hear the smile lacing in her husband’s voice. “We’re off in a while, so it’s a good thing you called now. How are you and James?”

Natasha takes a deep breath as she looks down at her sleeping son wrapped in his own blanket beside her. “James is sick,” she says quietly. “Bronchitis, just this morning. Shuri and the doctors said.”

“Is-is he okay? I thought he’s not supposed to get sick.” Steve says, worry lacing in his voice.

“He’s...he’s fine now. I’ll tell the story when you get home, but he’s fine now, asleep,” she answers softly. “Shuri said the serum’s not yet kicked in, so he’s still prone to getting sick, but he’ll be okay. He’s...he’s okay now.”

“Are you sure? I-I can get back,” Steve says. “I can tell T’challa and Bucky, I can go home. I can go home, help take care of you and James—”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” she says, chuckling softly. “We’re fine now, James is getting better. We’ll be waiting for you, okay?”

There is a pause on the other line and Natasha hears a sigh. “Okay,” he says softly. “But how are you holding up?”

Natasha sighs and leans her head back. “I was scared, Steve,” she admits quietly. “James was...he was shaking, and he was crying, and he couldn’t speak yet, and I got scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

“But he’s fine now, isn’t he? I think you knew exactly what to do, Nat,” he says softly. “You asked for help.”

“I could’ve done something.” Natasha says weakly, and Steve chuckles softly in the other line.

“You did, sweetheart, you did everything,” he says softly. “Listen, I gotta go. We’ll be leaving. But I’ll check up again later, okay?”

Natasha sniffles. “Okay,” she says softly. “I love you, Steve. Be safe."

“I love you too,” he replies softly. “And kiss James for me, okay? We’ll be home soon.”

Natasha hangs up and sighs as she puts her phone down. She lies back down beside James and presses a kiss on his cheek, pulling him closer to her body. He’s less warm now, and Natasha smiles because her baby’s fever is going down. She can still hear the wheezing, but seeing as he is still asleep, she figures that perhaps he can breathe more easily now.

She falls asleep beside him, cuddled beside her baby, and wakes an hour later to find James is still sleeping soundly beside her. She presses another kiss on the baby’s cheek, and gets up to the bathroom to prepare for the hot steam.

She comes back inside the bedroom, and removes the cooling pad on James’ forehead. She presses a small kiss on it. “Jamie,” she calls softly. “Jamie, wake up.” She shakes her baby lightly, until James’ face scrunches and he yawns, stretching his arms and legs, until he opens his eyes.

Natasha smiles and carries him into her arms, pressing soft kisses on the baby’s face as James whimpers slightly, wrapping his arms around Natasha’s neck and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Natasha continues to plant soft kisses on his head as she rubs his back.

“Mama?” James calls, pulling away slightly to face Natasha. She smiles and presses a kiss on the tip of his nose, and James lets out a soft giggle, making Natasha’s smile wider.

“You feeling okay, baby?” she asks softly, and James hums softly. She presses another kiss on his forehead.

“Mum...Dada?” he asks.

“Dada is still out, but he’ll be home soon,” Natasha explains softly. “But for now, baby, we have to make your coughs a bit better, okay?”

She carries him into the bathroom, where the steam from the hot shower area makes the room a bit stuffy and uncomfortable. James whimpers and clings to his mother, but Natasha adjusts James so he won’t be covering his face. “No, no, Jamie,” she says softly. “Just breathe with Mommy, okay? Breathe with Mommy.”

“Mama.” James whimpers softly, sticking out his lower lip as his eyes fill with tears. Natasha sighs and presses a kiss on the side of his head.

“It’s okay, baby,” Natasha coos softly. “It’s okay.”

She sits on the closed toilet, adjusting James on her lap as she coaches James to breathe, rubbing his back gently as he does. He coughs, and Natasha encourages James to spit the mucus, and when James sees this, and becomes more comfortable in breathing, he looks up at his mother with wide eyes.

“Better, baby?” Natasha asks. James babbles lightly as he sits more comfortably on Natasha’s lap. He breathes, and Natasha holds him, even when the room becomes really warm and stuffy, she holds James, rubs his back gently even as he coughs and spits.

_ She’s doing what she can, _ she thinks, as she watches James bounce as his breathing becomes more even, and he becomes more lively. Natasha smiles, leaning down to press a kiss on top of his head. It’s stuffy, uncomfortable and she’s sweating all throughout but she watches James become more lively as he is able to breathe better and more comfortably, she’s okay. As long as she sees her baby being able to breathe again, she’s fine.

She is doing what she can, everything she can, and she is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I've portrayed Shuri as someone with medical background here, and I know she's a scientist and inventor, but I was thinking maybe she's also knowledgeable in these things too?)
> 
> I'm having a great separation anxiety with State of Grace since I finished it (go check it out if you haven't), so I'm on a roll of posting one-shots. I've also scrolled and read on prompts you guys have commented and they're all great! I've already written some of them too, so I'll be posting them very soon, along with some ideas I've had that are also stored in my master document. But I do appreciate more prompts if you have them, since it really motivates me to write more.
> 
> Reviews appreciated, and of course, prompts too. Stay tuned for another separate work I'm currently working on and will be posting soon!


	19. Be Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19\. Natasha and Steve through their journey of Natasha's deteriorating mental health.
> 
> "She sighed and closed her eyes. “Love won’t fix me, Steve.” she said quietly. “I know,” he answered quietly. “I’m not here to fix you. I know I can’t, I know love can’t.” He paused, and she opened her eyes, looking at him. “I can’t fix you, but I’m not gonna give up on you either.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. This is gonna be a bit different from the rest, in a sense that: a) there is no James Rogers in the fic (I promise to make up for it soon), and; b) it's also another different take on post-Infinity War and Endgame. Before proceeding though, Steve and Natasha are already in an established relationship here, so just keep that in mind while reading the fic. I also wanted to include a domestic SteveNat fic here in this collection, even without James, so here it is.
> 
> This was also inspired by tweets roaming around in stan twt (yes i have one too hehe) about one scene in Endgame where it showed orange prescription bottles lying on Natasha's desk during Steve's visit to her in the Tower. I couldn't keep it out of my head when I saw it, so I decided to TRY to make it come alive and make sense of it.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Steve noticed it on the first anniversary of the decimation, one year since the Snap. In hindsight, he should have tried harder.

It started  _ with  _ the Snap, the decimation in itself. She froze, became unable to move as she knelt down when she saw Bucky’s gun beside a pile of ashes. Steve watched as she stared in disbelief at Bucky’s ashes. She took them in her hand, and let it fall through her fingers, tears filling her eyes as she choked back a sob, when she looked up and found Vision’s dead and grey bot with dust on top of it—Wanda. He held her as she sobbed, and she buried her face on his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her, clutching to him as if any moment he, too, can also turn to dust.

But he doesn’t.

He carried her back to the palace when she was unable to stand, and inside the palace, the Dora Milaje were wailing for the loss of their fellow warriors, as well as their king, princess, and queen. Okoye took charge for the meantime, and that evening, they listened as the people of Wakanda gathered in front of the palace to honor the death of their fallen leaders.

It was also that same evening that Natasha was unable to sleep.

Steve held her as she cried, and he’d never seen her cry like this. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop the tears from falling, couldn’t stop the sobs coming out of her mouth. He bathed her, and while they were in the tub, she kissed him, but she still cried, and he slowly kissed her back, and moved to kiss the tears falling from her eyes, as he washed her hair gently, and she rested her head in the crook of his neck. They held each other like that in their own private bathroom, all while listening to the teary chants and songs of the Wakandan people.

Five days after, they moved back to the Tower. Another eighteen days after, Tony came back, and shortly after, he moved out with Pepper, established a new life together after expressing that they had lost, and that he never wanted to have anything to do with the Avengers anymore. It hurt Steve, but when he looked at Natasha, he knew it hurt her too, but she never showed it.

On the twenty-eighth day, they raided Thanos, but it was there that they lost all hope when they all found out the Snap was irreversible. They left, and little by little, they went their own separate ways.

Except for Steve and Natasha. When Natasha told Steve she wanted to stay in the Tower, he agreed, and they did.

They tried to be as normal as they could, as normal as how they were before the Snap, when they were on the run. They would still lay beside each other, kiss, cuddle and make love. Steve would still cook for Natasha, and they would still do their trainings and spar. They would still talk to each other about their day, especially when Steve established a support group for those who had lost their loved ones in the decimation. He would be out for the majority of the day, and would come home, and he would share to Natasha what they talked about.

“I think it’s good that people can talk about what they feel,” Natasha told him once. “And it’s good they have someone like you they can talk to.”

Steve nodded, and reached out to hold her hand from across their dining table. “You know you can always talk to me too, right?” he asked, but Natasha didn’t answer, and instead gave his hand a squeeze.

While Steve was on support group, Natasha would take a walk, and it was then she found a group of kids, who were apparently children of those who perished in the Snap. “They were a lot, and I talked to Rhodey,” she told Steve. “He’s gonna help establish a small orphanage for them, gather around people who would wanna help support it, maybe look for other kids whose parents were gone too.”

“I think that’s great, Nat,” Steve said softly, smiling. “The kids won’t have to be left alone fending for themselves.”

“Yeah.” Natasha said quietly, and that was the end of the conversation.

And as the weeks turned into months, he noticed Natasha becoming more withdrawn on most days. On other days, she would be fine, like on Valentine’s Day, on Steve’s birthday, on Thanksgiving and her birthday, and on Christmas, but on the other days, a  _ majority _ of the days, she was distant, distraught, silent and withdrawn. When he would ask her what’s wrong, she would frown, furrow her eyebrows, as if in confusion, and she would tell him she’s fine. He would find out as soon as he would get home that she never touched the prepared meals he made for her before he left for support group, or on some days, he would get calls from Rhodey telling him Natasha never showed up in the orphanage, or she wasn’t picking up her phone.

“I was asleep.” she would say, whenever he would tell her that Rhodey called him.

“I wasn’t hungry.” she would say, whenever he would point out that the meals he prepared for her breakfast and lunch were untouched and cold.

But even if Natasha was withdrawn from Rhodey and the orphanage, they would still spend the night together, where Natasha would tell Steve as much as she can about her day working closely with the orphanage (whenever she actually  _ will _ show up), and Steve would tell her about his day in support group. They would watch a movie, and Steve would notice it again: how distant Natasha’s eyes were, how withdrawn she was, and she would turn their evening into a full-on make-out session until they would end up in their bedroom making love.

But Steve, of course, saw through it all.

One evening, near the anniversary of the Snap, he tried to refuse her advances, her way of avoiding his question of what was wrong. “Talk to me, Nat,” he pleaded. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, her voice rough and husky, as her hands touch his chest, and she straddled him. “I just want you.” She leaned in to press a kiss on his neck, and he groaned as he felt her hips grinding against him.

_ No. _ “Nat.” Steve whispered, his hand resting on her waist, and he felt his eyes flutter close as she nibbled on the skin just above his pulse, and when he lifted his hand, he felt it.

She was getting thin.

“Nat,” he whispered again as he pulled away, and when he did, he faced her. Her face was thinner, bags under her eyes larger and darker, and he frowned because how can he  _ not _ see it before? The changes in her body, how thin she was because of her refusal to eat. What was happening? What was wrong? “Nat, what...what’s happening?”

“I want  _ you, _ ” she said. “I want you, Steve,  _ please. _ ” She said it almost too pleadingly, that Steve thought her pleading really  _ was _ that—a plea, and not a sultry one at that.

So Steve gave himself to her, and they made love, passionate and heated love, and when they were sated, lying on their bed, Steve ran his fingers through her hair, and on her face, her cheekbones more prominent and sticking out than before. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, and his fingers slither down to the area below her breasts, and she shivered under his touch. He rested his hand on her waist, and he could feel her ribs sticking against her skin.

_ Too thin. _

By the time the first anniversary came to pass, she had reached the point that she was unable to get up from bed. He would leave the Tower in the morning while she still lay on the bed in her pajamas, and he would get home near dusk to find that she never left, nor showered nor changed her clothes. He prodded her to get up and take a shower, and she did, sluggishly, almost forcefully, that he saw tears in her eyes when he asked her the first time.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her when she was out of the shower dressed in one of his loose shirts, one side slipping off to reveal her bare shoulder. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Is that my shirt?” He never had a shirt like that, he recalled.

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows and frowned. “It’s mine,” she said. “It’s always been mine, look.” She held out her shirt, and he sighed because he noticed her arms were too thin now.

“Nat, what’s happening?” he asked him softly. “You haven’t left the Tower.”

“I was too tired.” she told him quietly, shrugging.

“You barely left the house this month, the past few months, and you barely showed up too in the orphanage,” he pointed out quietly, and she looked away. “Rhodey’s worried about you,  _ I’m _ worried about you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” she said, looking back up at him. “I’m fine.”

“Nat…”

“I said I’m fine, Steve,” she said more firmly, standing up. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.” She walked out of the dining room and back to their bedroom.

That evening, after Steve cleaned up his dinner, he washed up and went back to bed where Natasha was already laying. He laid beside her, facing her as she faced away from him. After a while, she turned and looked him in the eye. “Steve?” she called in a soft voice.

“Yeah?”

There was a moment of pause, and Steve only focused on Natasha’s green eyes in the little light entering their bedroom. “You should find somebody else,” she told him quietly. “Someone else to take care of you.”

Steve’s heart hammered against his chest. “Who’s gonna take care of you?” he asked.

“I can.”

“You can’t.”

“You don’t get to say that.”

“Nat,” Steve sighed, and he inched closer to her, but she never pulled back. “Is it because you don’t love me anymore?” he asked quietly.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “Love won’t fix me, Steve.” she said quietly.

“I know,” he answered quietly. “I’m not here to fix you. I know I can’t, I know  _ love _ can’t.” He paused, and she opened her eyes, looking at him. “I can’t fix you, but I’m not gonna give up on you either.”

Her jaw clenched, and he took a deep breath, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “You didn’t answer my question. Is it because you don’t love me anymore?” he asked quietly again, feeling his heart hammering inside his chest, and as the room became silent, he wondered if Natasha can hear how fast his heart is beating, pounding against his chest now.

Natasha blinked, pausing. “Yes.” she answered quietly, and Steve can feel his heart aching, his chest constricting.

“Is that true?” he asked. Another pause, and as he looked into Natasha’s eyes, he saw tears filling up.

“No.” she whispered. Steve felt his heart lighten as he sighed.

“Then what’s wrong?” he asked, and there’s another pause.

“Everything.”

“What are you feeling?”

She paused, and she buried her face in his chest. “Everything.”

Steve called off support group the next day. He woke up, cooked breakfast, before woke Natasha up. When he was about to wake her up, he noticed three orange bottles in the drawer of her side of the bed. He furrowed his eyebrows, and opened it to find two of the bottles empty and one of them was only half-full. When he saw the labels, he saw her name, and the dates filled were in the last three weeks.

One bottle for one week. One bottle of Eszopiclone per week, in a dose that’s definitely  _ not _ one per day, contrary to what the label said.

He took the bottles, and stored it in the bathroom cabinets. What was even happening? Steve woke her up, and she did. She was grumpy, annoyed at being woken up, and refused to get up, but he carried her in the dining room. She tried kicking him off, but her kicks were weak,  _ she _ was weak, and he sat her down on the chair beside him. He attempted to feed her, but she swatted off his hand.

“I’m not hungry.” she said.

“I don’t believe that.” he said, and she didn’t argue anymore, as she opened her mouth to let him feed her.

“I’m not sick.” she told him, and Steve sighed sadly as he stared at her, brushing her unkempt and tousled hair that was growing longer and slowly turning back to her natural red hair now, the tips of her hair being the ones left to be dyed blonde.

“Then why have you been taking sleeping pills all this time?” he asked softly, and she didn’t say anything more. “I think you might be wrong, Nat.”

“I’m  _ fine, _ and you should stop snooping around my things.”

“Why do you have them?” he asked, and Natasha huffed out in frustration.

“Why do you ask  _ so _ many questions?” she shot back.

“You have to tell me what’s wrong, Nat!” he shot back, his voice raising. “You  _ have _ to tell me, please, I need to know what’s wrong. What is happening?”

“I don’t know, Steve!” she shouted back, tears forming in her eyes. “I don’t  _ know! _ I don’t know what’s wrong and I want to so badly to know but I don’t know! Maybe,  _ everything  _ is!”

And Steve stayed silent, as he watched Natasha break down. He held her in his arms, as she muttered an apology, and he kissed her and told her it was going to be okay.

_ Was it? _

Two days later, he brings her to one of the clinics his support group co-leader referred him to. He’s a psychologist, a professional one, and when Steve opened up to him about his concerns for Natasha, he wrote down a recommendation for the psychologist who happened to be his colleague. His name is Maggie Smith, a psychologist specializing in anxiety, depression and co-occurring mental disorders. Natasha refused initially, but Steve eventually convinced her she needed some fresh air, and she needed some help.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” she told him, and Steve sighed.

“It’s okay if there is,” he said, and he pressed a kiss on the side of her head. “It’s okay to say there is.”

And so Steve and Natasha wait for Maggie Smith in her clinic, and when the secretary called them, they stand. Steve takes her hand as they follow the secretary and into her office.

The introductions are made, and Natasha attempts a smile as she shakes Maggie’s hand, and they sit down again. Maggie Smith is a little older than them, and she has grey hair but has a young-looking face, smiley and welcoming. “So, Alfred told me you were coming, said it was something of a personal concern,” she says, looking at Steve. “What seems to be the problem?”

Steve looks at Natasha who is looking down at her hands, and she is picking on her nails. Steve takes one of her hands in hers and she looks up at him. “I...I’m Steve Rogers, and this is Nat, Natasha Romanoff, my girlfriend.” Natasha looks back at Maggie. “It’s been...more than a year since the Snap,” Steve starts. “And...and things have been tough."

“Tough how?” Maggie asks gently.

Steve looks at Natasha who slowly looks at Steve and shrugs. Steve sighs and looks back at Maggie. “Well, it’s...it’s been tough ‘cause...you know,” he says softly, his eyes flickering at Natasha, and he clears his throat. “We kinda failed. But...uh, I’m not...I’m not here for me. I’m...I wanna…” He stammers and sighs and Maggie smiles understandingly.

“I understand,” she says patiently. “Would it be okay if you step outside for a while so me and Natasha can talk?”

Steve looks at Natasha who sighs as she closes her eyes. “Can he stay here?” she asks softly. 

“I think you might find it more comfortable if you were alone,” Maggie suggests patiently. “But still, he can, depends on you.” She smiles gently.

Natasha contemplates for a while, as she looks at Steve. “Can you wait for a while?” she asks softly, and Steve nods.

“Of course,” he says softly, leaning to press a kiss on the side of her head. “Of course. I’ll be outside, okay?”

And so here Steve is, waiting. It’s been more than an hour since Natasha has been inside, and he can do nothing but hope that everything is okay, that everything is going well. He allows his mind to drift off to the Snap more than a year ago, how it could have been a trigger to whatever is running through Natasha’s head for quite a while. He thinks back to the past year, how he could have  _ not _ seen that something was wrong, and it was only now that he brought her here for help. Anything could have happened,  _ anything  _ that he is afraid of happening might have happened if he hadn’t noticed it sooner.

How could he not? How could he  _ almost _ lose her, the one good thing he has left in the world?

Natasha and Maggie step out into the waiting area, and Steve stands up, as he holds out his arms so Natasha can go there. Her eyes are red-rimmed and glistening with tears, but she allows herself to be kissed by Steve on the side of her head, and to be held by him, as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, and he wraps his arms around her body.

“We’ll have another session tomorrow, at the same time you came here too,” Maggie tells Steve gently. “It would mean a lot if you accompany her to these, just wait for her here when our sessions are ongoing.”

Steve nods. “Of course,” he says softly. “Of course. Do we...do we have to buy anything, some...some medicine?”

Maggie shakes her head. “Not yet,” she says. “We’ll still have to go through the sessions, run tests so we can know what kind of treatment we can do for her.” She smiles gently. “Just be patient with her, okay?”

“I will,” Steve says softly. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Steve takes Natasha’s hand as they step out of the clinic and they start walking on the sidewalk. “We have to grab dinner,” Steve says gently. “What do you want to eat?”

Natasha sighs and looks up at Steve. “Takeout for delivery? Maybe we can eat at home?” she asks quietly, and Steve nods.

“Okay, okay, we’ll do that.” he says, giving Natasha a small smile, which she returns, as they walk towards the Tower.

Weeks pass by as Steve continues encouraging Natasha to get up from bed, letting her eat and accompanying her to her regular therapy. He is gentle in reminding her to take her antidepressants, and patient whenever she is in her depressive episodes. He celebrates small victories with her too, like when she manages to get up by herself, take a shower and get dressed, and it usually does the trick in bringing a smile on her face, and earning him a kiss. She is significantly becoming better, as she starts gaining weight again and her eating patterns become regular. She also starts seeing Rhodey in the orphanage again, and Steve would also go back to support groups, but he also managed to convince Alfred to alternate with him in case he needs to get home to take care of Natasha.

When Steve had asked Maggie what was wrong, Maggie patiently explained to Steve about Natasha’s MDD. “It’s possible it was triggered during the Snap, and everything that happened after,” she told him. “Even in therapy, she had a hard time pointing it out, but it was a huge part of it—the feeling of not being enough to stop it.”

Maggie also smiled gently and was quick to remind Steve. “I told Natasha this too, during our therapy,” she said. “But you did enough, all of you did, and you did what you could do.” She smiled sadly. “But we’re the few lucky ones to be alive, and we have to try to make the best out of it as much as we can.”

It meant a lot to Steve hearing those words, and knowing that someone else other than Steve told Natasha that as well.

One evening, Natasha rests her head on Steve’s chest, after a night of making love. Steve presses his lips on top of her head, as he traces circles on the small of her bare back. Natasha opens her eyes and looks at Steve.

“Steve?” she calls softly, and Steve hums, opening his eyes to meet hers. “When the rest of the world fades, and I’m left, do you think I’d be enough?”

Steve furrows his eyebrows slightly, and lifts his hand to brush her hair. “And don’t sugarcoat it, just because you know I’m...you know,” she says softly, and Steve presses a kiss on her forehead. “Be honest with me.”

Steve smiles, and leans to press a kiss on the tip of her nose. “You are enough,” he tells her softly. “And you know I’m always honest.”

And she looks at him the way she did in Sam’s guest bedroom all those years ago, when he told her that he trusted her with his life. For the first time in a long time, she smiles widely, as she leans to press a long kiss on his lips.

“Even when I’m not fixed?” she asks softly.

“Even then,” he answers softly. “And you’re getting there, Nat, slowly. You’re being ‘fixed’, as you call it.” He doesn’t like it when she refers to herself as unfixed, broken, like she’s an object of some kind, and not a warrior who had gone through a lot, but he supposes it’s as close as both of them can get in acknowledging the brokenness their loss had on them. It will have to do for now.

“Thank you for being patient with me.” she whispers, and Steve kisses her again.

“Thank you for still holding on.” he whispers.

It doesn’t cure her instantly. Love doesn’t work that way, Steve supposes, and neither do mental health issues like the one Natasha has. But it helps in the process, the patience, the company and the continuous love and support he gives her, and the smiles, albeit small sometimes, she gives back to him, it helps. It helps in knowing that there could be a light at the end of the tunnel, hope in the midst of a dark storm, some bit of warmth in the cold winter. It helps in the process of recovery, and of self-forgiveness and acceptance, and in the process of moving forward.

No, they don’t know if things will become better, but, like Maggie told them, the least they can do is live as much as they can, in the best way they can with whatever is left with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise to post the prompt requests soon, starting with the most requested ones (I think? based on Chapter 17's comments) so stay tuned! If you have more prompts, go ahead and tell me! And remember, if you are suffering as well from mental health issues, it is okay, and you are not alone. If you have friends who suffer from them, be patient and be present. You may feel like your presence and support to them is not enough, but it actually is most of the time. :)
> 
> Reviews and kudos very much appreciated!


	20. You Matter to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20\. Multiple prompts: James argues, and has a fight, with his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic introduces a new character, and you guessed it (and requested it too), it's James' little sister! She's portrayed as a minor character here, and I promise to explore more of little Sarah Rogers' character (starting with birth) very soon. But for now, here she is, and here is the fic that had multiple requests for it to be done. It's kinda fun to write about this too since it's loosely based on a personal experience, and writing about it feels like a diary of some sorts of what happened before.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

“In the car,” Natasha says firmly, her eyes narrowed and cold. “Now.”

The ten-year-old huffs and opens the door to the backseat just as Natasha opens the driver’s seat of the car and gets inside. James bangs the door close, his strength enhanced by the serum he inherited from his father, and the whole car practically shook. But he doesn’t care. His arms are crossed and he is looking out the window, not even daring to look into his mother’s cold green eyes as she looks back at her son after he shut the door with force.

He feels her stare, can practically _see_ her stare in his peripherals but he refuses to look, his own blue eyes narrowed, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth turned into a frown as he looks out, as his mother refuses to back down.

But eventually, she does, when he hears her close the door and the car engine starts.

Natasha takes a deep breath, willing herself to calm down as she grips the steering wheel of the car tightly. She was in the middle of a debriefing session when she was called by James’ school’s principal’s office, informing her that James was involved in a fight, and because of his enhanced strength because of the super serum, the boy he got in a fight with was immediately sent to the infirmary when he was thrown back by the impact of James’ punch on his face. James got a suspension for three days because of it.

And Natasha was fuming all throughout.

James hadn’t said a word, not when he got caught and went to the principal’s office, not when he was asked  _ why _ he did it, not when Natasha came in, and not until now, as Natasha drives them back home to the Tower. He watches the familiar scenery of the ride back home with his Uncle Bucky and Uncle Sam, watches as the high-rise buildings of Manhattan become more and more familiar as they near the Tower. He watches the gate automatically open to them, watches the S.H.I.E.L.D. trainees do their running routine as they pass by the training facility.

And finally they halt in their usual parking lot.

“You will go back to our floor, and you will tell your father what happened,” Natasha instructs firmly as she looks back at him, but James still refuses to look, his gaze hardening at  _ nothing _ in particular outside the window, anywhere but meet his mother’s gaze. “You will tell him  _ everything, _ right now as you go straight up to our floor.”

_ His father is home? Huh. _

“Do you understand?” she asks firmly. James nods, without turning to meet his mother’s eyes, and it only made Natasha more furious. “Look at me when I talk, James, do you understand?”

And so James looks at his mother, his frown deepening, as he narrows his eyes. “Yes,  _ Mom. _ ” he answers firmly. He immediately opens the car door and closes it, a little gentler than earlier, and he marches up to the Tower and Natasha sighs in frustration, resting her head on the headrest and groaning.

Natasha is well-aware of how young boys, upon reaching a certain age, can become more moody, more inclined to incite and do more trouble. She is aware that it’s also normal, and her friends had also warned her about that, especially when it comes to James. But she wasn’t ready when her little boy had become such a moody and troublesome boy for the past few weeks at a tender age of ten.  _ Ten years old. _

She asked Steve once what he was like at ten. “Sickly, small, thin, bullied. I don’t think I’m the right comparison when it comes to James, sweetheart.” he told her. Point taken.

She asked Sam instead, and he chuckled and shook his head. “Man, I had detention almost every time,” he said. “But it’s probably ‘cause I knew how to have a good time.” _Not_ helpful at all.

And his behavior at school is the least thing Natasha is worried about at this point, honestly. He’s been moody, irritated and angry most of the time, especially when he starts dealing with his parents for the past few weeks. Of course, he is still a sweet, good and happy brother to Sarah, and he always puts on a happy face whenever she sees him, or he sees her, but when Sarah’s not in the picture, he’s gone back to his withdrawn, irritated self who doesn't look up anymore when his parents come in, and only speaks a word or two when being spoken to. She tried speaking to him, coaxing him into telling her what was wrong, but he wouldn’t speak. He would, instead, just kiss her good night on the cheek (if she was lucky to coax one from him) when she would still catch him awake when they come back to their floor, and turn his back on her so he can sleep.

And at this point, Natasha is at a loss on what to do.

_ James is in there somewhere, _ she allows herself to think.  _ Somewhere inside that grumpy and moody boy’s body is her little happy and upbeat son, the son she raised and loved so very much. _ She lets out a final huff and shakes her head.  _ But she is at a loss of what to do now,  _ she thinks, as she recomposes herself and steps out of the car and back in the training facility to resume her debriefing and pending trainings.

James, meanwhile, goes straight up to their floor, as what his mother instructed him to do.

He is greeted by Jarvis in the elevator, and he greets the A.I. back, as he resumes his scowling. Since when was his father home? And now that he is, he  _ has  _ to tell him what happened.

But then again, it’s not like his mother won’t tell him later tonight, right?

The elevator door opens and he steps out. “Dad?” he calls out as he walks in their living room. “Sarah?” He removes his backpack and drops it on the living room couch.

His younger sister walks in to the living room coming from the direction of the room's hallways, her eyes sparkling and her face lighting up as she sees her brother. James grins and kneels down. “Hey, Sarah!” he greets. The five-year-old runs giggling towards her brother, her arms extended as James catches her in his arms. He presses a small kiss on his sister’s blonde hair as a form of greeting, as he embraces her. “What have you been up to, hm? Is Dad home?”

“He’s on the phone,” she answers softly, as she pulls away. “Mission.”

James sighs, because even though Sarah is only five years old, she was already familiar with what the words “mission”, “fighting” and “superheroes” meant, and how all of it are connected to their parents. She knew it was an excuse, something they always say whenever they're busy, whenever either James or Sarah would ask them to play, and they couldn't because they have a "mission" or "training" or they have to "fight" because they're "superheroes". He once thought it was normal, that it was something cool and all that.

But really, now it's just tiring.

“Why are you home early?” Sarah asks him softly, tilting her head and looking up at her brother with her wide green eyes. James shrugs.

“Just home early from school,” he answers nonchalantly. “But hey, since I'm home, d'you wanna play?” The little girl nods enthusiastically, a big grin on her face that makes James laugh softly. He stands up and takes his sister’s hand, and he allows her to drag him to her room filled with all her toys so they can play.

While playing James looks at his fist, and is dismayed to find his bruises from the earlier fisticuffs gone. It’s one of the things his super serum did: makes bruises heal fast and scars heal faster, apart from the super strength and slightly advanced muscle coordination and development, of course. James is smart, smarter than most kids his age, and Sarah is almost the same as him in that department, only that Sarah had inherited, instead, their mother’s Red Room serum, which had lesser effects than that of their father’s super soldier serum, making Sarah less “extraordinary” in a physical sense. She is petite, like their mother, and James is slightly short, too, but his Uncle Bruce had told him he’ll grow taller when he reaches twelve or thirteen. His muscles are slowly developing along with his built, and it helps that he actively plays soccer in their school too.

It took his father two hours since his arrival to ever notice he was home. But it's not like James was surprised. “James,” he says in slight surprise when he passes by Sarah’s room. “I-I didn’t know you’d be here so early.”

“Jamie says he’s home from school early,” Sarah answers, smiling up at her father. “He’s been playing with me since he got here.”

Steve looks at James who refuses to meet his father’s eyes, instead busying himself with the train tracks he and Sarah are constructing for her new train. “James?” he asks softly, gently, that James’ heart clenches at his own guilt for even refusing to meet his father’s eyes.

But every time he would look, it would just get worse. “Mom brought me home,” he answers quietly. “She’s back in training...or debriefing, I don’t know. Might wanna go check on her.”

_ Back to his moody state. _

Steve purses his lips and nods, taking a moment’s pause. “She’s in the facility?” he asks instead, and James nods. “You both good here? I’ll just go see your Mom.”

“Yeah.” James answers, while Sarah answers an excited “yes”. Steve gives both of them a small smile before he leaves, stepping out of Sarah’s room, and out of the apartment.

Their Uncle Bucky comes in a few hours later, and by that time, Sarah was already asleep for her late afternoon nap on the living room couch while James watches television, his eyes flickering every now and then to check if his sister is still asleep or not.

“Hey, you guys,” Bucky greets, letting himself in. James looks at him and gives him a small smile in acknowledgment. “The little princess is asleep?” James nods.

“Where’s Mom and Dad?” he asks in a small voice. Bucky closes the door behind him and walks over to him.

“Training, as usual,” Bucky says, sitting beside his namesake and resting his arm on the couch backrest. “Jamie, I heard what happened.” he says softly.

James takes a deep breath and looks away from his Uncle Bucky. He likes his Uncle Bucky, he really does. But he doesn’t need to know about what he did, much less  _ why _ he did it. Plus, he really didn't wanna talk about it. “Does Dad know?” he asks quietly.

“Did you tell him?” Bucky asks, and James shakes his head. “Then he doesn’t know. But your Mom told me, ‘cause she thought I’d know what’s happening, you know, _why_ it's happening, since I was quite the troublemaker myself when I was your age.”

James fumbles with his thumbs, staring at the television screen in front of him and Bucky sighs. “Care to tell your Uncle Bucky what’s wrong?” he asks softly, nudging James gently. “What’s been happening? Why don’t you talk to your Mom and Dad about it?”

James purses his lips. “They’re always in training.” he answers quietly.

“Well, I’m sure if you ask them to they’ll make some time to hear you out,” Bucky says. “They’re your Mom and Dad, of course they’ll make time for you if you ask them to.”

James stays silent, and Bucky sighs. “It’s just a busy time with S.H.I.E.L.D. lately, you know, especially for the past few months,” he says. “More and more trainees are coming in, and training is more extensive as before, which is why we’ve all been out and busy for quite a while. We need all hands on deck, and we need _your_ parents' hands, especially. You understand that, right?”

_ How long is a while? _ James wonders, because he may be ten, but he does know for sure that “a while” is not a long time. And everyone he knows in this Tower has been busy for a  _ long _ time. _Am I always supposed to understand only?_

_ He doesn’t get it. _ James sighs and looks up at his Uncle Bucky. “Did Mom tell you to talk to me about it?” he asks softly.

“Not really,” he answers, leaning back to watch the television. “I just got bored downstairs, and the others took over different trainings so I figured, hey, why not go see my favorite godson?” Bucky grins and James scrunches his nose.

“I’m your only godson.” he points out, smirking, and Bucky raises an eyebrow, feigning a surprise, attempting to hide the smile betraying his “surprise”.

“Are you now?” Bucky asks, and James chuckles softly, leaning back to watch the television with his Uncle Bucky, his eyes flickering to watch his younger sister sleeping beside him.

Sarah wakes up by the time Steve and Natasha come back up to their floor, and Bucky leaves. “Remember what I said, alright?” he tells his godson quietly. “Just go talk to ‘em. It’s gonna be fine.”

_ Was it? _

And so they have dinner, and they go through the usual—Sarah babbles about everything, this time mostly it’s about the games she and James played, and Natasha would have the sparkle in her eyes that’s always present whenever she would hear her children tell her stories, and Steve has the smile on his face, seen mostly in instances where he is with his family. James listens intently to his sister, as he eats and quietly observes and watches his parents. The sparkle in his mother’s eyes is quite less than normal, and Steve’s smile seems tense. He wonders why.

_ Right,  _ he thinks.  _ It’s because one of their kids had turned into a grumpy young boy. _

He snaps out of his thoughts when he hears Sarah ask, “Why  _ are _ you home early, Jamie?” Her eyes are wide as she looks at her brother.

James looks up from his sister, and his eyes land on his father, who is gazing at him questioningly, his eyes imploring his eldest son on why he was home so early today (and most probably why he’s been acting the way he was). His eyes then land on his mother, and his chest aches because his mother—whom he then lovingly calls his Mommy, now she’s just Mom—is watching him expectantly and almost sadly. He feels almost guilty, ashamed, at the way he’s acting, and the way he’s feeling that he feels his throat constrict.

But he pushes all of it down—the heavy weight on his chest, the feeling of the coming of a wave of fresh tears, the feeling of guilt and shame, and instead focuses on the frustration that has been building up inside him. What he feels is important too. What he feels matters too. He turns back to look at his sister, putting his utensils down to face her completely.

_ Talk to your Mom and Dad, _ his Uncle Bucky said. It needs to be said.

“I got into a fight,” he explains to his sister calmly, and Sarah’s eyes widen. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve’s eyes widen in surprise as well as he looks at Natasha whose eyes are just trained on her son. “In school, I got into a fight with this other boy.”

“Did he hurt you?” Sarah asks, almost afraid. James shakes his head and sighs shakily. His sister always looks after him, and he’s thankful for that, but she’s wrong to look after him this time.

“No, he didn’t,” James responds calmly. “I hurt him.”

“James.” Steve calls him quietly, and his tone indicating that he’s calling for a warning to stop. He looks, and he sees Steve’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his mother’s eyes slowly filling with tears, but he faces Sarah again.

“You know what that means, right?” he asks, and Sarah blinks at him. “Fighting? You know what it means?”

“James.” His father’s voice is a bit louder now, but his eyes train on Sarah’s, who is looking back and forth between her father and brother. James raises his eyebrows at his sister, and she nods.

“It’s what superheroes do,” she answers softly. “Like what Mommy and Daddy do.”  _ Yes, _ James thinks.  _ It’s how he learned about the definition of fighting too, at a young age like Sarah. _

“That’s right,” he responds, nodding. “But this time,  _ I  _ got into a fight in school, and I got in trouble. I got in trouble for fighting.”

“Why?” Sarah asks softly, pouting.

_ Why? _

James feels his throat constricting again, and feels his heart hammering against his chest. He feels his parents’ waiting gaze on them, waiting for his father to tell him to stop, or his mother to shout at him as well. He waits, but neither comes.

All three of them are waiting for him.

“Because I wanted to be like them,” James answers, fighting to keep his voice even. “I want to be like Mommy and Daddy. But I promise you, Sarah, that if  _ I  _ become a superhero, I won’t leave you. I won’t leave you alone at home and I won’t be too busy to play with you.” _What I feel matters too._

He feels his heart drop when he says it, a weight off his chest as he does, and he feels a fresh wave of tears fill his eyes when he hears his mother call in a hushed tone. “James.” And he’s almost too afraid to look, because he’s afraid to look into the look of disappointment his mother and father might be giving him, afraid to see the hurt he’s put on his mother’s eyes as he says it.

“I’ll make time to pick you up from school, and play with you outside if you ask me to.” he continues, and he sees Sarah’s eyes slowly filling with tears.

“James, stop.” Steve says firmly, but James shakes his head, his eyes not leaving his sister’s.

“And I’ll make time to go to school so I can watch your soccer games, and I’ll have lunch with you on weekends and breakfasts too,” he continues, and his voice starts to break. “Because you’re my sister, and you’re important to me. And I will do all of these even when I am a superhero. I won’t be too busy for you.”

He wants to say more, but he holds his tongue, because he knows it's going to hurt. _It'll hurt him and them._

_What I feel matters._

“James.” Natasha’s voice is firm and loud and he flinches in surprise as he looks at his mother, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears. But James frowns and furrows his eyebrows, looking at his mother in the eye.

And he says it, continuing from his litany. “Unlike  _ other _ superheroes who are too busy to do all of these things.” he says in a low voice, staring into his mother’s cold green eyes.

That soften as he says it. It was only for a moment, though, before she narrows her eyes again at him. “Go to your room,” Natasha orders firmly. “Go to your room and think about what you said.”

“Why don’t  _ you _ think about what I said!” he exclaims, his eyes filling with tears. He barely registers Sarah flinching in surprise at her brother’s outburst. “You asked me why, and I said it! If you don’t get it, then maybe  _ you’re _ the one with the problem!”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that!” Steve shouts, banging his hand on the table. His frown is deep, and his blue eyes are deep in anger further shown by his furrowed eyebrows. Beside James, Sarah begins to cry silently. “And you don't get to raise your voice like that at your mother or at me especially at the dinner table. Now listen to her and go to your room.”

James hops off his seat, but Sarah hops off from hers in an attempt to follow her brother. “Jamie.” she calls softly. stopping behind him.

Despite the burning anger he’s feeling, James takes a deep breath and kneels down in front of his sister, his hands resting on her shoulders as he gives her a small smile. “It’ll be alright, Sarah,” he tells her softly. “I’ll catch you later, okay? Play before we sleep.”

Sarah’s bottom lip wobbles. “Jamie, you’re hurt.” she points out softly. James starts to shake his head, but then he realizes that he is, and his sister can see it, even if it wasn't a physical manifestation of hurt. Sarah is perceptive, deep and smart and emotionally attuned like that.

“I’m alright.” he says softly. He stands and Sarah continues to look up at him. Without looking at the table, he walks towards his room, feeling the eyes of his family on him.

And with every step he takes, he feels the tears slowly coming in, his chest feeling heavier and heavier until he can only choke a sob as he opens the door to his bedroom. He closes it, and leans on the door.

And then he feels all the tears flowing down as he feels the load on his chest lift, but only to be replaced by a painful clench in the heart at the altogether feeling of frustration, shame and guilt stirring in his heart.

_ He said it. He finally said it. _

It’s even worse to admit it out loud: the change he experienced from his parents when he was younger and them now. Even as they had Sarah, all they lived and breathed is S.H.I.E.L.D., and they had lesser time to spend time with both of their children, much less pick them up from school and kindergarten.

He missed his father. He missed playing with him, running outside with him, playing with his shield. Nowadays, especially for the past few months, he’s always out, and when he’s in, he’s too tired to play, much less too busy to even play, sometimes even  _ look _ at his children. 

He missed his cuddly and playful mother—_his Mommy._ He missed waking up in the mornings only to fall asleep in her arms being kissed all over his face. He missed her asking him what’s wrong, and her making him laugh. He missed hearing her laugh, making her laugh. She’s always out like his Daddy, always busy like his uncles and aunties, too busy to talk or play or pick them up from school.

And James knows Sarah misses them too. But she is young, and she is sweet, and she couldn’t express frustration and anger like James can. He wants his sister to experience the same kind of love and care he experienced from them. He wants her to feel the morning kisses, and experience their plays in the parks like how he did, how he used to when he was at her age.

Sarah couldn’t experience all of these if James won’t do anything about it.

He crashes to his bed as he sobs. He didn’t mean to hurt his friend, he never did. But it was all about the bouts of his sadness, anger and frustration, as well as his helplessness that led him to do what he did.

He hears the door open and close, and he looks up to find Natasha by his door, her eyes red-rimmed, livid as she looks at him. “What was that?” she demands. “Huh? What was that? What was—what is even  _ happening, _ James?”

James huffs in frustration, and he begins to raise his voice. “I just said what I—”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me like that, young man! I am your  _ mother, _ and you don’t get to shout at me like that,  _ ever _ again!” she scolds, holding her index finger as she points at him. And he sees the tears flowing from her eyes, the hurt, angry tears as she tries to keep her voice even—her voice, what he remembered as calm, soft and light, which is now loud, hoarse and rough. “You made your sister cry, you ruined dinner which is the only time we ever get to spend time as a family—”

“That’s the thing!” James exclaims, sitting up on the edge of his bed as he faces his mother. “The  _ only  _ time we ever get to see each other, spend time with each other. We never see you anymore because you  _ never _ come home!”

“That’s not—”

“And you never play with me when I ask, and you never even get to play with Sarah anymore! Sarah doesn’t get to see you until dinner and you know how sometimes she sleeps really early so she  _ never _ sees you at all sometimes,” James continues, and his vision blurs as the tears continue to fall. James lets out a choked sob as his face scrunches. “And you never pick me up from school anymore, and you never pick Sarah up from daycare too. You never get to wake us up every morning or give us kisses goodnight anymore because you and Daddy are always busy, you and Daddy are always with S.H.I.E.L.D., so you ask Uncle Bucky or Uncle Sam or Auntie Sharon to do those things even if you're _literally_ in the next building!”

Natasha’s gaze start to soften in surprise and slow and realization, hearing every word her son is telling her. But James continues, amid his short breaths and sobs. “But we don’t want Uncle Bucky or Uncle Sam or Auntie Sharon. We don’t want  _ anyone _ to do those things. We just wanted you, you and Daddy,” he says, and then he lets out a whimper as he tries in vain to wipe the tears from his eyes. His frown deepens as he narrows his eyes at his mother. “And if I wouldn’t do anything, then you wouldn’t pick me up from school even if I asked! You wouldn’t even be there if nothing happened!” he shouts.

Natasha pauses as she shakes her head and her tears continue to flow, her bottom lip wobbling as she approaches her sobbing son slowly. “James,” she whispers, choking back a sob as she kneels in front of James sitting on the edge of his bed. Her hands rest on James’ shoulders, but he shrugs them away, and Natasha winces, allowing her hands to rest on the bed, on either side of James. She watches her son wipe the tears flowing from his eyes as he continues to sob. “Jamie, is that...is that why you got in trouble?” she asks softly. “In school, is that why you punched Alex?”

James whimpers as he nods, and more tears flow. “I didn’t mean to hurt Alex.” he says, his voice breaking as more tears flow.

And Natasha’s heart breaks as she watches as her son continues to cry, as more tears flow from her eyes as well. She takes a shaky breath, and tries again to lift her hands to rest on both of her son’s cheeks. He doesn’t flinch away this time, so she takes this chance to wipe the tears off from his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Jamie,” she says softly, her voice breaking as she holds back a sob. “Jamie, you know how important S.H.I.E.L.D. is to me and Daddy, and how much they need us—”

“But we’re important too!” he exclaims, and he attempts to remove her hands from his face. “Me and Sarah are important too. Me and Sarah need you too!” Natasha doesn’t move her hands off from James’ face as her face scrunches and more tears flow, and she lets out a quiet sob, but she doesn’t let go, no matter how much force he puts in to remove her hands from his face, she always brings it back, and no matter how much he scratches the back of her hands, she doesn’t back down. “Get off me! Get off me!”

“James,” Natasha whispers, but James just keeps on sobbing, yelling for his mother to get off of him. “James, James, please,  _ please. _ ” she pleads softly, fighting to keep her voice even, fighting to hold the tears back so she can look at her son; her son who is just hurt and heartbroken all because of  _ her,  _ her and Steve, who were both blind to all of this, to all of these emotions stirring inside their children.

_ Their eldest, especially. _

“James, look at me,” she says, a little louder, but as gently as she can, as she holds her son’s blotchy face firmly in her hands. James stops wriggling from her touch, but continues to scratch the back of her hands. Natasha lets out a choked sob as more tears start to flow. “Look at Mommy, please, Jamie. Look at Mommy.”

James lets out a whimper as he looks at his mother in the eye, his hands resting on her mother’s that are on his face. His eyes are wide, blue, red-rimmed and glistening with tears, and in that moment, she sees him again—the son she loves, the son she raised, her beautiful and happy little boy that had been gone for quite some time. She never knew why he was gone, where he went, but now she knows. Now she knows that it was her that drove him away, _she_ had driven him away, when she forced him to become strong and independent at his age, when she forced him to be a big boy for his sister because she had been gone, and Steve had been gone too.

What had she done?

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, as more tears start flowing from her eyes. She feels her heart clench, her chest constrict as she shakes her head, brushing her thumbs on her son’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Jamie, I’m sorry.” She takes a shaky breath as she fights to keep her voice even. “I didn’t know. I-I didn’t know you felt that way. I didn’t…” She lets out a choked sob, as James watches her, silent tears flowing from his eyes as his heart breaks seeing his mother cry.

He hates seeing his Mommy cry.

“I know me and Daddy have been gone a lot,” she says softly. “And I know me and Daddy aren’t always with you and Sarah, but w-why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?” She sniffles as her face scrunches into another sob. “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting sad?”

“You’re not always here,” James answers softly, as he starts crying again. “You and Daddy, you’re always busy being superheroes. You’re not here anymore.”

“Oh, James,” Natasha sobs, as she closes her eyes as more tears flow. She leans in to rest her forehead against her son’s. “I’m sorry. I’m  _ so _ sorry.”

And James listens as his mother whispers her apologies, watches the tears flow from his mother’s eyes. He hates seeing her like this. He hates shouting, he hates fighting, and he hates seeing his Mommy cry. He only ever wants her, her and waking up in the morning to find her there, her and her smiles and laughs as she plays with them. He never wanted to see her upset.

But she made  _ him _ upset.

“Can you forgive me?” Natasha asks, sniffling as she implores her son’s eyes. She uses one hand to run through his mussed red hair, wiping away the hair sticking on his forehead and the sides of his head. “Can you forgive Mommy? Please, Jamie?” She takes a shaky breath as she leans to press a kiss on his forehead. “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so so sorry.”

It wasn’t even a question, really, of whether he will forgive her, because of course he will. He loves his Mommy and Daddy, so  _ of course, _ he will forgive them.

But is that all there is?

“And I will make it up,” she continues softly, as if reading her son’s mind. “We will make it up, okay? Me and Daddy, we’ll make it up to you and Sarah. No missions for the meantime, no S.H.I.E.L.D., no training, not until we can settle this, okay? And then we’ll fix it. We’ll fix this, okay?”

_ There it is, but will it be true? _

“We’ll make it up,” she repeats again, almost pleadingly as she looks at her son’s eyes. “I promise, James, I promise we will make it up. We will fix this.”

James whimpers. “You promise?” he asks in a small voice.

“Yes,” his mother tells him, softly and without hesitation as she lets out a small smile, stroking his cheeks gently with her thumbs as she places her hands on either side of her head again. “A million times yes, Jamie, I promise we will make up to you.”

And almost instantly, James wraps his arms around his mother’s neck, and Natasha embraces him tightly, holding him against her chest as she presses her lips on his mussed red hair. James buries his face in the crook of his mother’s neck, as tears flow from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” he whimpers, and Natasha only tightens her arms around her son. “I’m sorry too, Mommy.”

“I know,” Natasha whispers, pressing a kiss on James’ hair, as she takes a shaky breath and closes her eyes to rest her head against her son’s. “I know, my love, I know.”

Natasha moves to sit on James’ bed, adjusting James so he can sit on her lap, like how he did before when he was younger. He’s a bit taller than before, of course, but even then, he can still fit sitting on his Mommy’s lap, and he can still wrap his arms around her neck and bury his face in the crook of her neck. Natasha presses kisses on his head, on the side of his face exposed to his mother, as she hums a tune quietly to calm James down in her arms, until his quiet cries turn into small whimpers, until he completely calms down in her arms.

“What do you say, tomorrow,” Natasha starts softly. “Daddy and I will bring you and Sarah to Coney Island, hm? D’you remember it there? The one with plenty of rides and games?” James lifts his head to look at his mother. “Where we can buy some hotdogs and lots of ice cream.” She smiles. “What do you say?”

James sniffles. “W-what about training?” he asks in a small voice. Natasha shakes her head and brushes his hair with her hand, as she smiles wider.

“We’ll figure it out,” she answers him. “No more missions and trainings for the meantime, right? You first. You and Sarah first, no more trainings and missions. Not until me and Daddy can fix this. So for now, it’s just us. Just the four of us, as a family.” She kisses his forehead, brushing his hair off his face. “You first.”

James gives his mother a small smile and Natasha leans to press a kiss on her son’s forehead again. “I don’t remember Coney,” he admits quietly. “I don’t remember it.”

“Then you’ll see it again tomorrow,” she says softly, pressing a kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair through her fingers. “What do you say, hm?”

James nods, and Natasha smiles, and James feels his heart flutter at seeing his mother smile again. The door to his bedroom opens, and they both look up to find Sarah and Steve enter in. Sarah is now dressed in her pajamas as she runs towards her brother, and James hops off Natasha’s lap so he can kneel down and catch Sarah in his arms.

“Are you okay, Jamie?” Sarah asks in a small voice, and James nods, smiling down at his sister, and embracing her.

“Yeah, Sarah,” James answers softly, pulling away slightly as he smiles, and Sarah smiles widely. “Hey, remember when you were talking about how you wanna eat cotton candy? And ride the ferris wheel and play some games?” Sarah nods. “Mommy just told me we’re going to Coney tomorrow, so we get to ride the ferris wheel and play really cool games!”

Sarah’s eyes widen in surprise and excitement as she looks at her mother who is smiling at her children, and she nods when her daughter looks at her. “For real?” she asks, in awe. She looks back at Steve who is looking at Natasha, confused and raised an eyebrow, but then he smiles and nods when Sarah looks at him. Sarah looks back at her big brother with a grin. “We’re gonna ride the ferris wheel!” she squeals in excitement.

Steve looks back at Natasha, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion, but Natasha just smiles at him and nods, telling him that she’ll explain later. Her smile widens when Sarah walks and babbles over to her as Natasha lifts her daughter to let her sit on her lap, pressing a kiss on her blonde hair as Sarah bounces in excitement, and Natasha laughs softly, trying to quell her daughter’s excitement so she can still sleep the night properly.

James walks over to Steve who crouches down in level with his son, and James gives Steve a small and apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” he says in a small voice. “I was really upset.”

Steve gives his son a smile and extends his arms to embrace James. James wraps his arms around his father’s neck as Steve rubs James’ back gently with his hand. “It’s alright,” he says softly. “It's alright, Jamie. But we have to talk about it still, okay? We have to talk about what you did.”

James nods, because he knows, and Steve embraces his son tighter. “We're alright,” Steve tells him softly, pressing a kiss on his son's hair. “We're okay.”

Not quite yet, they think. But they'll get there, of course. Slowly, they will, and for sure, they  _ will _ be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts involving/revolving around Sarah is very welcome too! I have a lot of oneshots still lined up to be posted too but I like the hype of receiving prompts and writing more so keep it coming! Leave your reviews and share it to friends too!
> 
> Also, I started a new series, a Romanogers AU series of oneshots called Modern Love. My first work for the series is out so if you're up for it, go check it out. I'm also working on another big (read: multi-chapter and long) fic which I will start posting maybe super in the future (but not too far in the future) so I hope you guys will still check it out once it's out!


	21. The Best Big Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21\. Multiple mixed prompts: James finally meets his long-awaited baby sister.
> 
> "Sarah. James grins widely and looks up at his mother. Sarah Rose. “It’s a beautiful name, Mommy.” he says softly, and Natasha nods, leaning to press a kiss on James head again. He flinches slightly when the baby starts to gurgle and stir in Natasha’s arms as he looks up at Steve who chuckles softly and perches on the bedside beside James, rubbing his back gently."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say, first of all, thank you everyone for all your kind comments on my works and all your prompts too! Your kind comments really make my day and they really motivate me to work on more fics and explore more prompts and angles of our favorite family. If you guys still have more, just keep it coming! Know that I read all of them and really take them into consideration as much as I can.
> 
> This chapter is inclusive of the prompts of many of you, namely James being a big brother, Steve and Natasha having a daughter, James meeting her for the first time, and James vowing to be a good big brother. Hope you guys enjoy!

“Auntie Sharon,” James says in a small voice, tugging her hand, and Sharon looks down and smiles at the little boy as they walk towards the car. “Where are we going?”

His Auntie Sharon came by early to pick him up from daycare, which is odd, because: 1) his Daddy is usually the one to pick him up from daycare; 2) she picked him up too early, and; 3) his teacher let him go so easily. It’s not that he’s complaining though, because he likes spending the day with his Auntie Sharon. She makes him laugh all the time, and sometimes, she, along with Uncle Sam and Uncle Bucky, take him to the park too and buy him ice cream behind his parents’ backs. It’s their little secret, they said, and so he keeps it, even when he gets all giggly and excited when he gets home and ends up  _ not _ keeping it a secret from his parents. But they don’t seem mad about it, on the contrary, it makes his Mommy laugh hard when he says it, so it’s fine.

They both stop by in front of the car as Sharon crouches down in front of him to his level, and she smiles and smooths his mussed hair (“always mussed hair” like how his Mommy says it). “Remember your Mommy told you two months ago in your birthday? That you’ll be getting your baby sister really soon?” she asks.

He does, actually. He knows his Mommy has a baby in her tummy, a baby sister, his parents said. He was excited to have one, and he asked if he can have his baby sister so he can finally have a playmate on his birthday two months ago, when he finally turned five.

His Mommy and Daddy laughed fondly, and his Mommy told him patiently, “She’s my and Daddy’s little gift to you. But you have to wait for a little more time because she’s still getting ready to meet her best brother.”

“Yeah,” James tells Sharon. “Mommy said she’s still growing and getting ready to meet me.” His eyes then widen in realization. “Is she here?”

Sharon chuckles softly. “She’s on her way,” she tells James. “That’s why me and Uncle Sam came to get you early, because your sister wanted to come out early in the day too. Maybe ‘cause she’s excited to meet you too.”

“Where is she? Where is she?” James asks excitedly, bouncing on his feet, and making his Auntie Sharon laugh softly.

“She’s not here  _ yet, _ but your Mommy is trying her best to...to get her out of her tummy,” she says, and James figures it makes sense. Her Mommy had a big tummy for the past few months, and she explained to James how his sister is inside there, and when she is ready, she will get her out. “So she’s in the hospital with your Dad, and Uncle Bucky is there waiting too. We’ll be bringing you there. That okay?”

James nods, unable to hide his grin on his face. “Alright then,” Sharon says, smiling as she stands up and opens the backdoor of the car to the passenger seat. “In you go, little mister.” James climbs inside and Sharon helps in buckling him to the seat.

“Hi, Uncle Sam.” James greets when Sam looks back at him from the driver’s seat as the passenger door closes.

“Ready to meet your sister, Jamie?” Sam asks him, grinning, and James nods, bouncing on his seat and grinning ever so widely.

“Off we go, then.” Sharon says, as she takes her seat in front and closes the door of the car, looking back at James with a smile, as James nods again.

To say James was excited to have a baby sister is an understatement, and even his parents, along with his uncles and aunties can attest to this sentiment.

Steve and Natasha had been nervous about telling James he was going to have a baby sibling at the start. It’s not really because they thought he would be a big brother, but more of they were scared James might take it differently, that they were trying to replace him or some sorts. The thought loomed more over Natasha’s head rather than Steve, because she didn’t want her little boy to think they were replacing him, nor would she want him to think that they will love him less because a new baby is coming.

But they were wrong in thinking that, because when Natasha had told her eldest son that he was going to be a big brother because “Mommy is carrying a baby in her tummy”, one evening when the three of them were having dinner, James’ eyes had widened in both surprise and delight.

“I’m gonna be a big brother!” he exclaimed in excitement. He knew what being a brother meant because his classmates in daycare talked about having one or being one. He understood that being a brother or having one meant having a playmate too, and he really wanted to have one so badly that he once contemplated of asking one from his parents if he can have one, or if he can be a big brother instead. Guess he didn’t need to ask anymore.

Both Steve’s and Natasha’s hearts swelled in both relief and love, especially when James hopped off his seat and went over to hug his mother, who carried him to her lap and peppered his face with kisses. That evening, he slept between both his parents because he insisted so because he wanted to talk to the baby, and mostly so he can ask his parents questions about being a brother.

And when they thought the excitement would only last for that night when the official announcement was made, Natasha and Steve woke to James’ murmurs the following morning, and they woke up to find their son slumped over his mother, his head resting on Natasha’s chest as he murmured quietly, even giggled by himself.

“Jamie,” Steve chuckled as he smoothed his son’s back and leaned over to kiss his hair. “What are you doing?”

James lifted his head off his mother’s chest and grinned widely at his father. “I’m telling the baby lots of stories! So when it comes out, it will know lots of things about me and about you and Mommy!” he answered, proceeding to rest his head back on his mother’s chest as Natasha chuckled, pulling James closer to her face, and while James groaned and whined at first at being pulled away from his “conversation” with his baby sibling, he dissolved into a fit of giggles when Natasha peppered his face with kisses and Steve started tickling him on his tummy.

He was also the first one to announce to his uncles and aunties later that day that he was going to be a big brother (Steve and Natasha had a plan to how they’ll announce the second Rogers’ coming to their friends, but they figured James’ announcement was better), and had been one to tell Natasha that she shouldn’t be off to missions and trainings anymore because the baby might get hurt (which James learned about through his Daddy’s lessons on how to take care of his Mommy while she’s pregnant).

He was also one to ask his uncles and aunties lots of questions about babies.

He first asked, “What do babies eat?”

To which, depending on his uncles, answers vary.

Uncle Bucky would say, “Mostly milk and water. They don’t eat anything until they have teeth which will grow over time.”

Uncle Sam would respond, “Anything soft, maybe ice cream and marshmallows. Gotta ask for your Dad lots and lots of marshmallows.”

And his Uncle Tony smirked, and his eyes sparkled with mischief, but he would be smacked by James’ Auntie Pepper before he can respond. He settled for, “Your Uncle Buck’s right. Babies only drink milk.”

He then asked, “What do babies do?”

His Auntie Sharon responded, “They mostly sleep, but they also play a lot and say lots of things that might not make sense yet so you have to be the one to teach her how to talk.”

His Auntie Wanda answered, “Babies love to play! And they crawl a lot too, so you have to be a good brother by making sure she doesn’t bump into lots of things.”

His Uncle Clint told him, “They poop a lot, Jamie, and get really really stinky.” which earned him a glare from James’ Mommy, so his Uncle Clint was quick to say, “But they do love to play a lot! And your aunties are right, you have to be a good brother by making sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

When he found out he was going to have a baby sister, another one of his questions was, “How do I become a good big brother?”

His Auntie Pepper told him, “You take care of your sister, love her and protect her. Make sure you don’t fight with her a lot even if she steals your food and toys, because that only means she wants to play with you.”

His Uncle Rhodey told him, “So as long as you don’t fight with her, then you’ll be a good big brother.”

When he asked his Mommy and Daddy that, they looked at each other and smiled sheepishly. “We didn’t really have a baby sister or a brother when we were kids, Jamie,” his Daddy told him. “But I agree with Auntie Pepper and Uncle Rhodey, so as long as you love her and protect her, and you don’t fight with her, you’re already a good big brother.”

And the most important question was, “What would Mommy and Daddy name my little sister?”

To which each of them responded with their own names. From Antonia to Virginia, Samantha to Sharon, Wanda (she did suggest Pietra for his brother) to Clintonia (James scrunched his nose at that), to Natalia and Stephanie (James didn’t like it for some reason, because it lacked originality perhaps), and to Maria and Carolina (James tilted his head at that, as if considering). Bucky and Rhodey had been smug their name got picked first for the eldest Rogers, so they didn’t put their names in the pot. Steve and Natasha rolled their eyes and laughed at the name suggestions, and James looked up at them and asked in horror if his sister would be named any of those.

“What do you think, Jamie?” Natasha asked softly. “D’you think we should get any of the names your aunties and uncles have suggested?”

James shook his head and smiled sheepishly at them. “I’m sure there are other names, Mommy.” he said quietly, making Steve and Natasha laugh loudly.

Steve and James had teamed up in taking care of her too, from bringing her breakfast in bed, bringing her water after her morning sickness, accompanying her to the doctor and reminding her to rest whenever she insisted on working. Natasha found her two boys doting over her adorable and at times, to the point where she started tearing up (pregnancy hormones, something James had later learned when he thought Natasha got upset when he brought her water to drink after her morning sickness). But Steve found that James hovered around Natasha and the baby more especially when her bump started showing and began growing. He was more careful when it came to running towards his mother whenever he would come home and she’ll be waiting for him, or whenever they would cuddle.

On his fifth birthday two months ago, James grew impatient and asked his Mommy if he can have his baby sister as a birthday gift. “I wanna have a playmate for my birthday.” he said, pouting. Natasha chuckled and leaned down carefully to press a kiss on her son’s hair, her hand resting on her very big baby bump.

“Patience, my little one,” she told him softly and lovingly. “Your little sister is just getting ready so she can meet you. I think she’s pretty excited too.”

“But why won’t she come out if she’s excited too?” he asked quietly. 

“Because she still needs more time to grow,” Steve answered him patiently. “So that when she comes out, she’ll be ready to play with you too, but not quite yet, because she’ll need to learn how to walk and talk properly first.”

“I can teach her to walk!” James says, perking up, and both his parents laughed softly. “When will she come out?”

“Maybe in two months, sweetie.”

So James, as he watches the scenery from outside the car window, figures that time must be up and that his baby sister is ready to come out and meet him. He smiles and bounces lightly in his seat in excitement of finally meeting her. Unbeknownst to him, Sam and Sharon are watching him through the rearview mirror, both of which are smiling fondly as they watch their first nephew get excited over his baby sister’s arrival.

Sam parks his car in the hospital parking lot, and Sharon helps James get off his seat from the car. “Where are they?” he asks as Sharon laughs softly, crouching down once again to straighten his shirt and pants and smooth his hair.

“They’re upstairs, and we have yet to find out if your little sister has come out,” Sharon answers softly. “But don’t you worry, alright? All we have to do is wait. Uncle Bucky is already up there waiting too.”

“And Mommy and Daddy?” he asks, confused. Sam chuckles as he picks up the five-year-old boy to his hip, and Sharon stands and straightens herself.

“Your Mommy’s trying her best so your sister can come out safely, and your Dad well…” Sam looks over at Sharon and she gives him a pointed look, trying to hide a smirk of her own. “Let’s just say he’s there to cheer your Mommy on.”

“I wanna cheer Mommy too.” James points out.

“Might wanna rethink that, Jamie,” Sam says, pressing a kiss on James’ hair and bouncing him. “Come on, let’s go see what your Uncle Bucky’s been up to, and maybe we’ll get some ice cream too.”

But they didn’t get to, because once Sam, Sharon and James had reached the floor where Bucky was waiting in, Steve had come out into the hall with a huge smile on his face, especially upon seeing his son. “There you are.” Steve greets, just as James wiggles down from his Uncle Sam’s arms and starts running towards his father’s arms. Steve lifts him and kisses his son on the cheek, just as the three hover around Steve.

“Everything good?” Sharon asks, smiling, and Steve nods, adjusting James to his hip, unable to keep the huge smile off his face.

“She’s here. Nat did it,” Steve says, grinning. “Beautiful baby girl that looks like her.”

The three adults cheer and share their congratulations to Steve, giving him side hugs as to not crush James in his arms, as James looks at his father confusedly. “Daddy, where’s Mommy?” he asks softly.

“She’s with your little sister, Jamie,” Steve answers, and James’ eyes widen in delight. “Wanna go see ‘em?”

James nods, and Steve presses another kiss on his son’s cheek as he turns to his friends. “Thanks for bringing James over, and for coming here too,” he says, smiling. “We’ll be in 3043, if you guys wanna come up.”

“We’ll be up there in a while,” Bucky says, grinning. “Just gonna grab some lunch.” He nods over at James. “And to give you guys some alone time too.”

Steve chuckles and nods. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

Steve and James proceed to the elevator, and James looks at his father. “Daddy, is my sister here?” he asks.

“Yeah, buddy. You’re a big brother now,” Steve answers, grinning and James smiles widely. “You’re gonna meet her once we get there. She’s beautiful like Mommy. But she’s really small so you have to be careful when you meet her, okay? Just like what we talked about?”

“Okay.” James answers, bouncing in his father’s arms. Steve laughs softly and presses his lips on his head. The elevator door opens, and they proceed to walk down the hall, and stop in front of a room. Steve turns the knob and opens it, and James’ face lights up when he sees Natasha on the bed carrying a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. She looks tired, some of her hair sticking on the side of her head, but she is absolutely glowing as she looks down at the baby in her arms, and she smiles widely when she looks up and finds Steve with James.

“There’s my little man,” she says, and James grins just as Steve closes the door behind them. Natasha adjusts the baby in her arms so she is facing the direction of James and Steve. Natasha leans down to press a kiss on the baby’s forehead, just as Steve walks over beside Natasha’s bed. “Your big brother is here, little one.” she says softly, rubbing her nose on the baby’s forehead.

The pink blanket over her head falls off, and James grins when he sees the baby’s tuft of blonde hair. _ Just like his Daddy’s hair, their Daddy’s hair. _ “She’s so tiny.” James comments, leaning over to take a better look at his small and sleeping baby sister.

Steve gently puts James on the bed beside Natasha, and Natasha smiles as she presses a kiss on the side of James’ head, but he is too awe-struck to notice as he watches his sister. “What’s her name, Mommy?” he asks softly.

Natasha looks over at Steve and smiles, and Steve’s eyes start filling with tears as he nods. “Her name is Sarah Rose,” Natasha tells James softly, carefully bouncing the baby in her arms. “Our little Sarah.”

_ Sarah. _ James grins widely and looks up at his mother.  _ Sarah Rose.  _ “It’s a beautiful name, Mommy.” he says softly, and Natasha nods, leaning to press a kiss on James head again. He flinches slightly when the baby starts to gurgle and stir in Natasha’s arms as he looks up at Steve who chuckles softly and perches on the bedside beside James, rubbing his back gently.

“Looks like your sister recognized your voice, buddy,” Steve says softly. “Look. She’s waking up.”

Sarah lets out a soft gurgle and a small yawn and James watches in awe. The baby slowly opens her eyes and James is delighted to find that it’s green like his Mommy’s,  _ their _ Mommy’s. And she kind of looks like his Mommy too! Only she’s really tiny and a bit wrinkly, but James supposed that maybe it’s normal. The baby rubs her eyes with her small closed fists and Natasha chuckles softly, pressing a kiss on Sarah’s small forehead.

“Hey, little girl,” she whispers, adjusting Sarah in her arms so it looks like she is slightly facing James. “This is your big brother, Jamie.”

Sarah blinks her green eyes as she lets out a gurgle and James grins. He reaches to take one of her hands slowly, and Sarah wraps her tiny hand around one of his fingers. “You’re so tiny,” he tells Sarah softly, and his parents laugh softly. “But a good kind of tiny.” He then grins wider. “My tiny sister.”

Natasha feels like her heart is about to explode as James reaches out another one of his hands to take another one of Sarah’s, and she wraps her hand around another one of her brother’s fingers too. James giggles softly, and Sarah gurgles. He looks up at Natasha and asks, “Can I hold her, Mommy?”

“Of course, baby,” Natasha answers softly, smiling. James withdraws his hands from his sister gently and sits properly, just like how he and Steve had talked about way before. “Okay, hold your hands out on your lap.” James does as he is told as Natasha transfers Sarah to James. Steve rests Sarah on his lap, and helps James support Sarah’s head by his arm. James grins widely as he uses his free hand to touch Sarah’s nose, as the baby gurgles and almost smiles at James.

James comments softly again, “You’re so tiny, Sarah.” The baby gurgles again, and he takes her hand in his, and she wraps her hand around his finger again, as James laughs softly.

And Steve walks over to the other side of the bed beside Natasha, pressing a kiss on the side of her head as he sits beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close to him. Natasha hums and rests her head back on his shoulder as they both watch fondly at their children interacting for the first time. Natasha feels her heart is going to explode with the cuteness and love at the sight beside her as she couldn’t help the smile forming on her face, and the tears filling her eyes. It seems that Steve feels the same way too, as he smiles and leans down to kiss Natasha on her head again.

“Thank you,” he whispers. Natasha turns her head and smiles at her husband, and Steve presses a soft chaste kiss on her lips. “Thank you. For James and Sarah. Thank you.”

“Thank you.” she whispers back as she presses a kiss on his lips too.  _ Thank you for choosing me, for loving me, for giving me our beautiful and wonderful children. _ Steve seemed to have gotten that, and he kisses her again on the lips, and on the side of her head before both of them turn to watch their children.

“Hey, Sarah,” James says softly, looking down at his sister on his lap. “I’m Jamie, your big brother. And this is our Mommy and Daddy, but you’ve met them already.” He smiles widely as Sarah just stares up at her brother curiously. “We’re gonna be best friends, you know, because I promise I’m going to be the best big brother there is.”

He remembers the words his uncles and aunties have told him, the advice they gave when he asked them how he could be a good big brother. “I promise I’m going to be a good brother, and share with you my toys and food, and tell you lots of stories, so you can learn how to talk too,” he says softly. “And I promise I’ll play lots of games with you, and teach you to walk so we can go to the park real soon to play, and maybe we can meet other kids too who would like to play with us. I had lots of friends when Mommy and Daddy used to bring me to the park, and I’ll let you meet them so they can be your friends too.”

Steve and Natasha listen to James tell all these promises to his sister, their daughter, and they feel their chest swell with love and pride at how James seems determined in keeping all of these promises. Their little boy is still a little boy at five years old, but they’re happy to find him all doting over his sister. It’s too cute for them, how James talks to Sarah, and how Sarah is watching her brother curiously and listening to him almost attentively, like she can understand what his brother is telling her.

“I promise to protect you too, and not let yourself get hurt,” James continues and he pauses. “But don’t hurt yourself too. That’s kind of dumb, but it’s okay, I won’t laugh at you or anything.” Steve and Natasha laugh softly at that, but James didn’t seem to hear them, as he leans closely to his sister and presses a kiss on her small forehead.

“We’re going to be best friends, Sarah, you and me. We’ll be best friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts also revolving around Steve and Natasha (only) are very welcome, but since I've introduced little Sarah here, prompts involving her too would be much appreciated! I've taken all the comments from the last chapter into consideration too, and some of which are already lined up to be posted soon. But keep the prompts and ideas coming if you have more! (shoutout to steveandnatlover because your prompts are really really creative and it challenges me to delve into more domestic angles for Steve, Nat, James and Sarah. Thank you so much!)
> 
> Also check out my ongoing series Modern Love!


	22. I Got It From My Mama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 22\. Steve brings Sarah to meet her Grandma Sarah.
> 
> "“This is Sarah, my and Nat’s daughter,” Steve says softly, nudging Sarah gently who perks up at the mention of her name. Steve laughs softly and smiles at his daughter. “She’s beautiful, Ma. She takes after Nat a lot, but she has my hair, she has your hair.”"

“Tatowfwy?”

Sarah looks up at his father with wide green eyes as Steve chuckles and crouches down in front of his daughter, as both of them watch the blue-winged butterfly hover over them. Steve sticks out his index finger, and they watch as the butterfly lands on his finger, and Sarah gasps, her eyes wide and her mouth turning into a grin as she bounces on her little feet to watch the butterfly’s wings fold and unfold.

“Beautiful butterfly, right, baby?” Steve asks softly. Sarah nods, her grin widening.

“Fwy, fwy!” she cheers in her small voice, and Steve laughs softly, tossing his hand up as the butterfly flies, and Sarah starts giggling as she watches the butterfly fly up to the sky.

It’s one of the most beautiful sounds he has ever heard, and it’s from one of his most beautiful girls.

Steve picks Sarah up in his arms, resting her on his hip as he tucks some of her hair behind her ear, and presses a soft kiss on her cheek and the tip of her nose. Sarah smiles at his father, and Steve feels his heart flutter inside his chest. His daughter is beautiful,  _ absolutely _ gorgeous looking just like her mother. The only thing Sarah probably got from him was his blonde hair color, and even then, she got her mother’s wavy hair, but he’s really not one to complain. Her daughter is the spitting image of his wife, if not  _ more _ beautiful than her (it’s the only time he allows himself to say it, that someone else is more beautiful than Natasha, and it’s their daughter, Sarah. Natasha wholeheartedly agrees with him too, so he feels less guilty about it.)

“Ready to go see grandma, hm?” Steve asks softly, pulling her shirt down and smoothing it as Sarah wraps her small arms around his neck. “You’re gonna get to meet the woman you were named after.”

Sarah nods and smiles, and Steve proceeds to walk through the tombstones as the two-year-old scans the surroundings, her arms wound tightly around her father. A cold wind passes them and she shudders and Steve smiles as he pulls her jacket around her body tightly.

“Cowd.” Sarah says softly, pulling herself closer to her father and Steve chuckles. Their little girl just gets more and more adorable, even with her speech impediment, turning her L’s and R’s into W’s.  _ Just like him before, _ he thinks fondly.

“It is, hm?” he responds softly. “That’s because it’s fall, which is why the leaves are red and orange.”

“‘Ed, ‘wange.” she repeats.  _ Red, orange. _ Steve grins and presses a kiss on her cheek.

“Good job, baby.” Steve praises and Sarah giggles, burying her face in the crook of Steve’s neck as she wiggles her feet happily, pulling herself closer to Steve.

Steve continues to walk, and he stops when he sees a familiar tombstone, the name of his mother, along with her birthday and the date of her death below it. It’s on stone, and over time, since he got out of the ice, he made it a point to ask someone to maintain it for him, at least until he could drop by to visit, either by himself or, as the years pass, with Natasha, so the stone and his mother’s grave, even though it’s old and had survived the war, is still well-maintained and cleaned.

“We’re here.” Steve says softly, and he smiles and looks at Sarah who lifts her head to look around the place, and eventually down at the tombstone.

“Gwama?” she asks softly, looking back at her father. Steve nods.

“Yeah, baby, here,” Steve says softly. He crouches down and guides Sarah back on her feet on the ground. “You still have our small flowers for Grandma?”

_ Grandma, _ something Steve knew her mother would love hearing, but never got to. Sarah nods and opens the inside of her small jacket, bringing out the small bouquet of wildflowers Sarah had picked earlier this morning before they left. It’s pressed, probably because it was crushed inside his daughter’s jacket, but Steve still smiles and presses a kiss on her forehead.

“Fawow Gwama?” she asks, and Steve nods again.

“Just put it right there, sweetie.” Steve says gently, pointing at the tombstone. Sarah toddles over and crouches to rest the flowers on the ground in front of the tombstone, and she toddles back at Steve, who sits down on the grass and catches his daughter in his arms, letting her sit on his lap.

“Hey, Ma,” Steve greets softly, smiling as he looks at the tombstone. “Sorry it took me a long time.”

Steve hadn’t really gotten the chance to visit his parents’ grave, not since James was born and they got more involved with S.H.I.E.L.D.. He did get the chance to bring Natasha here plenty of times before, the first time before they even got together, another time when they  _ did _ get together, and another before they got married. Steve knew Natasha had dropped by here at some point too before they got married, since at some point when he dropped by on his own, he saw a wilting bouquet of flowers by the tombstone, and he knew it would come from none other than Natasha.

Now they had some free time from S.H.I.E.L.D., so he decided to use this day to visit his mother’s grave. “Bring Sarah with you,” Natasha told him earlier this morning. “I think she’d love to see her namesake.”

“She’d want to see you too, you and James.” Steve told her, and she chuckled softly, leaning to give her husband a soft kiss on the lips.

“Another day, I promise,” she said softly. “Or your son is about to start throwing fits.”

Steve chuckled, because James had asked his parents if he could hang out and play with one of his classmates, whose mother Natasha was well-acquainted with too. They agreed, with the condition that Natasha will come and accompany him, as it would give her the opportunity to get to know her son’s friends’ parents too. (Besides, she was invited by the mother, so it’s not like she could say no to that.)

So Steve decided to take their daughter with him to a drive in Brooklyn, to his parents’ graves.

“This is Sarah, my and Nat’s daughter,” Steve says softly, nudging Sarah gently who perks up at the mention of her name. Steve laughs softly and smiles at his daughter. “She’s beautiful, Ma. She takes after Nat a lot, but she has my hair, she has  _ your _ hair.”

Sarah hums as she looks up at her father. “Dada, talk?” she asks softly, and Steve smiles.

“Daddy’s talking to grandma, sweetie, right here,” he says, gesturing over at the tombstone. “Grandma’s in there somewhere.”

Sarah looks back at the tombstone again and waves her hand at it, as if she is waving at somebody. “‘Wo.” she says in her small voice, and Steve laughs, pulling Sarah closer to his body and pressing a kiss on the girl’s hair and cheek.

“Gwama name?” Sarah asks.

“Sarah,” Steve answers softly, smiling. “Her name is Sarah, like you.”

Sarah tilts her head and looks back at the tombstone. “Gwama Sawah.” she says softly, and Steve has to laugh at how adorable his daughter said it.

_ You’ll love her, Ma. You’ll love both of them so much. _

Sarah wiggles and buries herself further in her father’s arms, and she looks up at Steve. “Dada, stowy,” she says softly. “Tell Gwama.”

_ Tell a story about Grandma, _ she wanted to say, and Steve gets it and understands it. He hums and presses a kiss on top of Sarah’s head. “Well,” Steve starts, letting his mind wander to the face of his mother: a beautiful, small woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, those of which he got from her, a loving and strong mother to a small sickly young boy who also did everything she can to make sure they survived and lived well. “Okay, I have one.” Steve smiles.

His eyes flicker over to his father’s graveyard beside his mother’s, and he sighs. “When Daddy was young, really young,” he starts softly. “Grandma used to get hurt a lot, you see. She was always hurt.”

_ Why didn’t you just stay down, Mama? _ He remembers himself crying, wrapping his small arms around his mother who was bleeding through her nose, whose one eye was swollen from one of his father’s drunken punch that evening. He remembers the sensation of her arms around him, the arms that made him feel loved and safe all the days of his life until her death, until he eventually found another set of arms who made him feel safe and warm, and at home and loved.

“Why howt?” Sarah asks softly, looking up at her father with wide eyes.

“Someone hurts her a lot, Sarah,” Steve explains softly. “Because of lots of fights, and shouting and...and hurting.”

_ Do you hear what you’re saying to me, trying to break my heart? _ Steve sighs and closes his eyes as he recalls his father’s shouts towards his mother, after hitting her and she falls beside the table where Steve was hiding under.  _ Making my boy think I’m some kind of laggard? How dare you compare me to that man? _

“Bad?” Sarah asks, and Steve smiles sadly, brushing his daughter’s hair gently.

“Not really,” he responds softly, and he meant it, as he looks over at his father’s grave. “He was kind of bad at first, but then afterwards, he became a good man. He changed.”

Sarah hums and Steve smiles.  _ Come out, dear. It’s okay. _ “She was a strong woman, your Grandma. One time, she got really hurt, you see,” he says softly. “Because the man...the man hurt her, after they had a fight, the man punched her, and she got hurt. And...and I was under the table, and she fell down, and I got scared and I started crying.”

“Dada howt?” Sarah asks, her eyes wide and her bottom lip sticking out. Steve chuckles and shakes his head, leaning to press a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Not me, baby,” he tells his daughter softly. “Grandma was, but Grandma was strong, you see. When she fell down, Grandma hugged me when she saw I was crying. And you know what she said to me?”

“What?” Sarah asks softly.

_ Why didn’t you just stay down, Mama?  _ Why didn’t she just stay down, so she couldn’t get hurt, so she wouldn’t have been hurt by her own father in another one of his bouts of alcoholism?  _ Because, and you listen close, Steven… _

“You always stand up,” Steve says softly, smiling. “She told me to always stand up. Remember it’s also one of the things me and Mommy always tell you whenever you fall while trying to walk?”

Sarah nods, and Steve’s smile widens. “That one’s from Grandma,” he says. “Grandma taught me that.”

He can also remember many other things his mother taught her, remember the way she loved too, and tried his best to replicate that kind of love he felt from her to his children. But he remembers one of the things he had told her after he had become Captain America, shortly before she died, when he told her who he was going to be, and what he wanted to do.

_ You’re so much like your father, Stevey, _ she told him, and he frowned, because he never wanted to be compared to his father who had hurt his mother like that. But Sarah Rogers had smiled at her son and continued,  _ A born dreamer. But there’s something you’ve got to remember. Even if your every dream comes true—it won’t mean a thing unless you’ve reached out, and helped someone else along the way.  _ He closes his eyes and smiles as he remembers his mother’s smile at him, the beautiful and loving smile that encouraged him to become the man who he is now.

_ Don’t ever forget that, Stevey. _

I won’t, Mama.

“Gwama bwave?” Sarah asks, and Steve smiles. Sarah, his sweet and beautiful and loving Sarah, likes saying that, the word “brave”. She likes saying it to describe her brother, and her mother and father as well. She likes saying that she wants to be that too, but Steve thinks she already is, much like her Grandma, her namesake.

_He can never begin to fathom how brave her mother was._ “She was brave, yeah,” Steve says softly, nodding. “And she’s also very beautiful too, beautiful like you.”

“Wook...wike Mama?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Steve has to chuckle. She has been told by her aunties and uncles, as well as her brother and parents, several times that she looks like her Mommy: everything from her green eyes to her nose and cheekbones, she  _ is _ a little blonde Natasha through and through.

“Beautiful like Mommy too, yeah,” Steve says, nodding. “But  _ you _ look like Mommy. Grandma doesn’t, but she’s just as beautiful as you and Mommy too.”

“Mow Gwama stowies!” Sarah exclaims, grinning up at his father and Steve chuckles, nodding.

“Okay, then.” Steve agrees, smiling, and he proceeds to tell more stories about his mother to his daughter. He tells her a story of how his mother would bring home treats she bought from the small amount of money she earned as a nurse, on occasions when she would have more money than needed. Sarah would listen attentively, and Steve would tell more stories about his mother’s love for art and nature, most especially flowers that he would buy her some whenever he gets home and he has spare money from his allowance from school, or just flowers he’d decide to pick whenever he passed by parks on his way home.

He misses her, of course. Steve misses his mother, especially when he came out of the ice and woke up into a completely different era. He misses her embraces, the lessons she taught him, the way she talks so soothingly and gently, and the way she smiles and laughs too. He’s grateful that, in some way, he still got to see traces of her from the way Natasha treats and loves their children, the way she would use  _ that _ voice (that gentle, soothing and smooth voice his mother used on him before) when speaking to James and Sarah, and the way she would hold them and cuddle with them until they would fall asleep.

He is grateful that even after all these years, in some way, he can see that she is still alive in his life through Natasha. Now he will forever remember her through his daughter too, the one both he and Natasha named after her, her namesake.

His phone buzzes, and when he takes a look at it, Sarah gets up and Steve lets her as he checks his phone and smiles, when he sees Natasha text him, asking him how they were doing, followed by a picture of James and his friend, both of them in Captain America costumes. He laughs softly at that. He types a quick reply, and is about to call Sarah so he can snap a photo of her, when he sees his daughter walk over back to him, a couple of red flowers that probably fell from the tree in her hands.

And his heart melts. “What d’you got there, Sarah?” he asks softly, and Sarah smiles up at him.

“Fawow Gwama.” Sarah responds softly, crouching over in front of the tombstone, and dropping the flowers in front of it. Steve smiles widely and snaps a photo of Sarah crouching down in front of the tombstone and dropping the flowers in front of it.

_ Sarah giving flowers to Grandma. We miss you right here. _ Steve puts his phone back inside his coat and smiles as Sarah straightens herself and runs back to Steve’s arms, as he kisses her cheek and she giggles.

“Alright, guess we better go,” Steve says, standing up and getting rid of the leaves stuck on his coat and pants. “Say bye bye to Grandma, Sarah.”

Sarah turns to the tombstone and waves again. “Bye bye, Gwama.” she says in a small voice. She then walks up to Steve again and reaches for his hand, and he takes her hand in his, his one hand tucking inside the pocket of his coat as he sighs and smiles.

_ Thank you, Mama. _ “Bye, Ma. I’ll see you again soon.”  _ Thank you for making me who I am today. _

Sarah, on their way back home, convinces Steve to drive by a flower shop so they can buy flowers for her Mommy too, since they gave flowers to Steve’s mother. “Mama wuv fawow too?” she asks, and Steve happily agrees, of course, and asks his daughter to pick the flowers they would give to Natasha. They drive by McDonald’s for a quick snack, and he receives a text from Natasha telling Steve that she and James are home in the Tower. Steve smiles, and after eating, they drive home.

“Give the flowers to Mommy when we get there, okay?” Steve asks, and Sarah nods enthusiastically, bouncing on her feet as she looks up at the elevator, waiting for them to get to the floor.

The elevator door opens, and Sarah makes a beeline to their living room, where she sees Natasha and James cuddling on the couch. Natasha’s face lights up when she hears Sarah call for her, and present the small bouquet of flowers to her.

“Oh, are these for me?” she asks her daughter, her eyes sparkling and her smile wide as Sarah giggles and nods. “This is so sweet. Thank you, baby.” She picks Sarah up to sit her on the couch and peppers her face with kisses, making Sarah dissolve in a bubble of laughter before she crawls off to the couch and embrace her brother, exclaiming his name.

Steve walks over to his family, smiling as he leans down to press a kiss on James’ head after he greets him and extends his arms at his father after Sarah crawls off of him. Steve carries James to his hip, and James presses a kiss on Steve’s cheek when Steve taps on it. Natasha smiles fondly as she inspects the small bouquet, and she looks up at Steve who smiles down at her.

“Gwama wuv fawow,” Sarah babbles, looking up at her mother. “Mama wuv fawow.”

“I do love them too,” Natasha says softly, leaning down to rub their noses together, and Sarah giggles again. “Is this your idea, baby?”

“Yup, all her idea,” Steve says softly, sitting down beside Natasha, resting James on his lap as he leans to press a kiss on the side of his wife’s head. “‘Cause she’s very sweet like that.”

“Both of them are,” Natasha says, running her fingers through Sarah’s blonde hair and leaning to press a kiss on the tip of James’ nose, who giggles softly in Steve’s arms. “Both our babies are.”

_ All because of their Mommy, _ Steve thinks, as he smiles fondly, as if he can see his mother’s eyes in Natasha’s in the way she looks at their children. He’d like to think he was who he was because of his mother: a kind and gentle father and husband, sweet and loving to his children and his wife, all because she showed him how to be one.

He hopes his children will get that too, and he thinks he will. He thinks they’ll become like that too, even better perhaps, because of their mother, because of Natasha. Maybe they'll get her love, gentleness, bravery and passion from her too, the same way he got all of those from his own mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Rogers' quotes from two separate Captain America comics (I can't remember which volume and issue exactly, but I'll edit here once I find them again).
> 
> As per usual, reviews, comments and (more) prompts welcome! As I've also mentioned earlier on, I'll be posting some prompts I've already done and some originals I've come up with as well so do check them out once it's posted. I post pretty fast, so hope you'll stay tuned!


	23. The Feelings of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 24\. Prompt: A teenage Sarah has a girl talk with her mother Natasha about a teenage boy Sarah likes (and perhaps has secretly been meeting). Sarah might be worried about how Steve might react and asks her mother for support.
> 
> "Natasha smiles, reaching to cup her daughter’s face, and brushing her cheek with her thumb gently. Her baby girl is not a baby anymore, and is now a beautiful and grown young lady, but Natasha stops herself from getting too emotional, because even if she has grown, she would still need her. Sarah might still need her mother, and she will always be here at every moment she does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this prompt last night (while I was groggily scrolling through my email, and found an AO3 notif), and for some reason, a million ideas just came into my mind when I read it, and I just ~had~ to work on it. Thank you, steveandnatlover, for this prompt and your many more. I'm always looking forward for all of it. :)

Natasha steps aside from her routine, and she watches with a proud smile on her face as Sarah finishes their act with the final set of fouettes. She checks her form, and her smile widens as Sarah stretches her arms in perfect form, her loose bun falling off, but her daughter just laughs it off, continuing her turns with her long blonde wavy hair flying off with her every turn, a beautiful and natural smile plastered on her face as she finishes her turns and the music ends, and she ends with her final position, panting, and smiling as Natasha claps her hands.

“Beautiful, Sarah,” Natasha praises, and Sarah smiles widely as she straightens herself, bouncing on her feet as Natasha approaches her daughter, embracing her and smoothing her blonde hair. Sarah giggles, embracing her mother back. “Your fouettes are perfect, _ so _perfect, my love.”

“Thank you, Mom.” the fifteen-year-old replies softly, pulling away. Natasha presses a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, smoothing the stray strands of hair off of her face.

“Rest for ten?” Natasha asks, and Sarah nods. “And then we can move on to the next act.”

“Can you do it with me too?” Sarah asks softly. “The whole one, I mean?”

“Of course, babe,” Natasha replies softly, smoothing her daughter’s rosy cheeks as she smiles widely. “Let’s do the whole thing together, hm?”

Sarah nods, and follows Natasha as she sits on the floor under the barre, retrieving her own water bottle and drinking it as she leans on the wall. Sarah fumbles with her fingers and takes a deep breath, as she retrieves her oversized long-sleeved shirt and puts it on, retrieving as well her hair tie that fell on the floor earlier. She sits on the floor beside her mother, and Natasha smiles as she extends her hand to get the hair tie from Sarah, who gives it to her happily. She turns her back on Natasha, and her mother straightens her back as she combs Sarah’s blonde hair with her fingers, taking a few portions from the side to braid it.

Sarah smiles, and she takes another deep breath. _ This is it, _ she thinks. She looks up at the cream ceiling of their ballet studio in their floor, and she sighs. _ It’s all gonna be okay. _

“Mom?” Sarah asks softly, and Natasha hums in acknowledgment, continuing her work on her daughter’s hair. “When you...when you met Dad for the first time, what did you feel?”

Natasha pauses, and her eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion and amusement, and her lips twitching upwards to a smirk. “What do you mean?” she asks, and Sarah lets out a small chuckle.

“I mean...you said before when you met Dad you didn’t know he was going to...that you were going to get married,” Sarah says, fumbling with her fingers, and wincing slightly when Natasha accidentally pulls her hair tightly. Natasha mumbles a soft sorry, and Sarah smiles. “But when...when you knew, what did you feel?”

Natasha ties her daughter’s hair neatly and smiles, and Sarah slowly turns, looking at her mother. Natasha smiles and laughs softly, looking down at her feet as she pulls her legs closer to her chest. She tries to remember, more than two decades ago, what it felt, something her daughter is asking for. She tries to remember the butterflies in her stomach every time she would see Steve, the tingling in her skin every time their elbows grazed each other during team bonding nights, and the way her heart would flutter and beat fast against her chest when he would look at her.

She wonders why Sarah is asking her that.

“I didn’t know your Dad was the one I was going to marry when I first met him,” she agrees, nodding, a small smile on her face as she looks at her daughter who is looking at her with her wide green eyes that mirror hers. “Nor did I think we were getting married either when I thought,_ hey, _ I kind of have a crush on Captain America.” Sarah giggles, and Natasha’s smile widens.

“But...it was _ good, _ and terrifying for me at the same time,” she tells Sarah honestly. “Mostly it was because I thought your Dad wouldn’t want to be with someone like me, let alone someone like _ him _ have feelings for someone like _ me. _”

Sarah scrunches her nose, and Natasha laughs. “How could you think that, though?” she asks, and she smirks. “Dad’s _ really, _ really in love with you now.”

Natasha laughs loudly, and Sarah smiles. “He is now, isn’t he?” she asks, and Sarah laughs softly, nodding. “But back then, it didn’t seem like it, mostly because your Dad was apparently just _ as _ scared in admitting how he felt. It wasn’t until your Uncle Tony had to lock us in a room together for a supposed prank did he say so.”

Sarah chuckles softly, and Natasha smiles, fondly remembering the memory. “But that’s what I felt,” she tells Sarah softly. “And it’s...also all the cliches you and Jamie watch _ so _ very often nowadays.” Sarah laughs. “The butterflies, and the heart beating against your chest, and you forgetting what to say, where you are or what you do just because he’s there. It’s all that. And it was annoying, most of the time, it really is, but with your Dad, _ oh, _ Sarah, it felt right. It felt awfully right to feel all of those with him.”

Sarah smiles widely as she looks back down at her feet and nod. And Natasha smirks, nudging her daughter gently by the elbow. “What made you ask that question, Sarah?” she asks softly, smiling teasingly at her daughter who laughs softly, and Natasha grins. “You know you can tell me anything. It _ is _ Ballet Time, you know.”

Sarah figures that her mother is right. It _ is _ Ballet Time, a time where she can have her mother all for herself, where they dance together and talk in-between. They’ve had this since Sarah was four, since Sarah watched her mother do a routine dance for the first time, and deciding for herself that she wants to be just like her Mommy. Ever since, they take four hours of everyday (as much as they can, when Natasha isn’t off abroad for long missions and Sarah isn’t busy cramming for final exams) just for themselves, where they talk about half of the time, and dance in the other. It gave Natasha the opportunity to get to know about her daughter more, and it gave Sarah the opportunity to connect with her mother more beyond the mother that she is, and the agent facade she usually shows around S.H.I.E.L.D. most of the time.

They’re pretty close, Natasha and Sarah, as she considers her mother as her best friend besides James. She feels comfortable telling her mother everything, especially during their personal Ballet Time, as what Natasha said.

Which is why she’s doing this _ now. _

“You promise not to tell anyone?” she asks, and even Sarah finds it silly, because she _ knows _ her mother will keep a secret as just that: a secret. But nonetheless, Natasha nods, and Sarah smiles. “Especially not with James, and _ not _ with Dad.”

Natasha feigns a surprised expression. “Oh no, is this what I think it is?” she asks, and Sarah bursts out laughing as Natasha chuckles and nods.

“I think it is,” Sarah confesses, smiling up at her mother, and Natasha smiles. “You remember David, right? The smart boy in my class that me and Hope are really close friends with?”

And Natasha nods, because she _ does _ remember David—David Alleyne, a handsome young man, also an enhanced mutant, whom Sarah gushes about as one of the smartest in their class. He was in Sarah’s fifteenth birthday celebration, when she gathered all her friends to have an intimate birthday dinner sponsored by Tony inside the Tower. She remembers him from her own daughter’s stories of her friends too, alongside Hope Summers and Billy Kaplan, both of which are (apparently) enhanced by mutant DNA, just like Sarah was with her parents’ serums. She remembers Sarah telling her the four of them are all close because of their similarity of being enhanced beings who just wants to live as normally as they can.

“I do, yeah,” Natasha replies softly, nodding, and she smiles widely. “He was the one who bought you a necklace for your fifteenth birthday.”

Sarah smiles, and Natasha observes that her daughter is blushing—_ blushing! Her fifteen-year-old is blushing!— _as she nods. “Yeah, that’s...that’s him.” she says.

Natasha tries to hide her smile as she nods encouragingly. “Okay, what about David?” she asks, and Sarah looks up at her mother and chuckles.

“Like you don’t know it already, Mom,” Sarah says, laughing, and Natasha laughs alongside her. “I mean, he’s cute, and...and he’s _ really _ smart, and really friendly, and…” she trails off, and smiles widely, that Natasha _ has _ to smile because her daughter’s smile is really infectious and beautiful. “Okay, I’m just gonna say it.”

“Okay.” Natasha laughs softly, nodding, and Sarah chuckles.

“I really like David, Mom,” she says softly, smiling up at her mother. “And it’s not really just because...just ‘cause he’s cute, and smart and really friendly, and he understands what it’s like being an enhanced. It’s...I don’t know.” She laughs softly, and Natasha smiles, waiting patiently for her daughter to continue. “It’s everything about him, and I’ve been having a crush on him for a _ long _ time, and—”

“How long is a long time?”

“Mom!” Sarah exclaims, laughing, and Natasha chuckles softly. “You can’t ask that.”

“Why not?” Natasha asks, smirking teasingly, shrugging. “It’s a valid question.”

“Oh, Mom!” Sarah groans, but she continues laughing, and Natasha laughs, trying her best to contain her fit of laughter at seeing her almost-lovestruck daughter. _ Is this what she looked like before when she liked Steve? _ “You are such a _ mom. _”

“I _ am _ your mom, young lady,” Natasha responds, nudging Sarah’s elbow. “Now come on, how long have you liked him?”

Sarah laughs softly. “Just after my fifteenth birthday,” she responds, smiling. Natasha thinks back—her birthday had been eight months ago. “So it’s...quite some time.”

“Quite some time, yeah,” Natasha agrees, nodding, but she doesn’t let her smile fade. “You didn’t tell me before about this, hm?”

“Well, ‘cause I thought it wouldn’t go anywhere,” Sarah explains. “But...but two days ago, during lunch period, when we were alone, he told me he liked me.” Sarah’s smile widens as she looks up at Natasha, her eyes wide and sparkling and her smile wide and beautiful. “David likes me, Mom.”

At this point, Natasha feels like she should be wailing, begging for all gods listening to her to _ not _ let her baby girl fall for any man who can possibly hurt her and break her heart, but as she looks at Sarah, she knows that this is one of the many good things in her life that she’d hate to be taken away from her. As far as she knew, Sarah never liked any other boy before, not even when she was younger and childhood crushes were possible. She _ hated _ young boys that aren’t her brother, and she only ever got over it when she got a bit older. But now, she has a crush on someone, who also likes her back.

Besides, Natasha couldn’t blame the young man either. Her daughter _ is _ beautiful, kind-hearted, smart and compassionate. Any man would be a fool to _ not _ like a lady like her.

“What did you tell him when he said that?” Natasha asks softly.

“I said I did too,” Sarah responds softly, smiling. “And after school, he took me to Black Tap, before walking me back home.” Natasha smiles (Black Tap was where she and Steve also had their first date). “And yesterday, he asked me if I could be his girlfriend.”

_ What? _

“What?” Natasha asks, her eyes widening, and Sarah’s did too.

“N-not that I said anything,” she stammers. “I didn’t, I didn’t say anything. Well...not _ yet. _” She pauses, and looks at Natasha cautiously. “I-I said I have to ask you first, and I have to ask Dad and Jamie first too, because you have to say yes before I do.”

Natasha’s heart swells with pride and love. Natasha looks at her daughter, and she can see the immense trust and love she has for her family, the way she _ wants _ them to like the boy she likes before she decides she would want to be with him. She can see how much it meant to Sarah that they would be _ with _ her in every decision she makes, especially this one that involves love and relationships.

And there, Natasha also realizes, her baby girl is not a baby anymore.

“And I figured,” Sarah continues softly. “It would be easy to tell you first, well _ easier _ than Dad and Jamie. Because I know how Dad will react, and Jamie too.” She chuckles, and Natasha smiles, because she _ does _ know too, how they will react, and she imagines it will be a _ handful _ to deal with. “And I...I wanna know, Mom, if you’ll say yes to me dating David first, so I can at least have someone behind my back.” She smiles and shrugs. “I know you don’t...you never really had the whole thing, of...of having a Dad when you decided you’d want to say yes to Dad at first, but I know you’d still understand. ‘Cause you’re my Mom.”

She does, actually, and not only because she is Sarah’s mother and she empathizes with her daughter in the same way of how Sarah is always attuned to her mother’s emotions more than anyone. She understands having the same kind of brother and father figure James and Steve are to Sarah, the same way Clint and Nick had been to her, especially when she confided to both of them that she and Steve were together (she did this, unlike what Sarah did, because she was less confident about what they will say, and her second argument was that they had no choice but to agree because they had already done the do, and were officially together). She knew what it was like to be absolutely _ terrified _ of telling them this, because she was scared they may not like Steve as her boyfriend, and not like a teammate and co-worker, much like what Sarah may have been feeling with regards to James and Steve liking David.

She never had a Mom figure, but she’s glad that she was able to _ be _ one for Sarah especially in this situation.

“Do you like David?” Natasha asks gently, and Sarah nods.

“Yeah, Mom.” she responds. Natasha nods, and quirks the corner of her mouth as she raises an eyebrow at Sarah.

“Do you _ love _ David?” she asks, and Sarah scrunches her nose as she looks at her mother incredulously.

“I think love is a strong word, Mom,” she says, laughing softly, and Natasha nods, as she smiles proudly. _ That’s my girl. _ “Probably not in the level of you and Dad, but I love him as...as I love Hope, and as I love Billy.” _ As a friend, but a little more. _

“Do you want to be with him, still?” she asks. “Even if you don’t love him _ yet, _ do you want to try and be with him?”

Sarah nods almost immediately. “Yeah,” she responds softly. “Maybe I’ll learn to love him when we get together, and maybe he’ll learn to love me too in that way.”

Natasha smiles, but she needs to know one more thing. “Does David make you happy?” she asks softly. It’s a bit of a stretch, she knows, a loaded question when she thinks about it, but maybe for a lovestruck fifteen-year-old, it would only be a simple yes-or-no question.

And it _ is _ simple. At least for now, it is. Because Sarah nods, and smiles beautifully at her mother. “He does, Mom,” she answers softly. “And I think I make him happy too.”

Natasha smiles, reaching to cup her daughter’s face, and brushing her cheek with her thumb gently. Her baby girl is _ not _ a baby anymore, and is now a beautiful and grown young lady, but Natasha stops herself from getting too emotional, because even if she has grown, she would still need her. Sarah might still need her mother, and she will always be here at every moment she does.

“Then you have my yes,” Natasha responds softly, and Sarah grins widely. “You have my yes, Sarah.”

Sarah giggles, and Natasha grins, leaning in to press a kiss on the tip of her daughter’s nose, as Sarah laughs, scrunching her nose. “Thank you, Mommy.” Sarah says, rubbing her nose against her mother’s, laughing softly. Natasha hums, and presses another kiss on her forehead.

“Now,” Natasha says, straightening herself on her seat. “The real work begins. We have to figure out how to tell your Dad and your brother.”

Sarah groans, but she is unable to keep the smile off her face. “Well, how did you tell Uncle Clint and Uncle Nick about you and Dad?” she asks.

Natasha laughs loudly, shaking her head. “I didn’t need to talk, sweetie,” she says, a teasing smile on her face. “They’ve seen it before I can say it.”

Sarah furrows her eyebrows in confusion. “How—_ oh _ _ God,_ Mom!” Sarah exclaims, realizing what her mother meant, and she covers her face with her hands as Natasha falls on the floor, laughing at her daughter’s reaction. “Oh my God, I didn’t— _ Mom!” _ Sarah groans, as Natasha laughs, and Sarah puts her hands down, unable to keep the smile on her face and the laughter coming out of her mouth. “That’s the _ worst _ advice you can ever give.”

“It’s not advice, sweetie, you asked for it,” Natasha says, getting back up, a huge smile on her face. “My advice would be to _ not _ let them know that way, or we might deal with something _ way _ bigger than what was intended.”

“Duly noted, Mom.” Sarah responds, laughing softly, and Natasha chuckles.

She takes Sarah’s hands in hers, and gives it a light squeeze, and Sarah looks up at her mother from their hands and smiles. “Just remember whatever it is your Dad and your brother will say or however they will react, it only means that they love you and they just want what’s best for you,” she says softly, and Sarah nods. “And I have your back on this, okay? In everything, babe, I will always _ always _ have your back.”

And Sarah smiles and nods. “I know, Mom.” she says sincerely, and Natasha smiles, because she _ knows _ that her little girl knows that, but it feels good to say it nonetheless, immortalize it through words and through the real thing.

She looks up at the clock and grins. “And our ten is up,” she says, and Sarah smiles widely as Natasha stands, pulling her daughter up on her feet. “Continue this later?”

“Of course.” Sarah answers, smiling as she watches Natasha smile and turn to change the music on her phone for their next routine. Sarah stretches her legs and feet, and removes her long-sleeved shirt, thinking about how lucky she is to have a mother like Natasha, who loves her and understands her like how she does now.

The music starts to play, and she proceeds on the middle of the dance floor, and Natasha positions beside her, and they look at the mirror as they both smile and stand in position. Natasha smiles widely as she looks at Sarah who smiles back at her mother. They both watch themselves as they dance, both of them graceful and in sync and beautiful, both of them lucky to have each other in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May or may not be based on something that happened to me too. And in case you guys don't know also, David Alleyne, Hope Summers and Billy Kaplan are all canon Marvel characters. You can go search more about them if you guys have time. :)
> 
> Any reviews, comments and prompts definitely welcome! Check our Modern Love in my profile for more!


	24. Twenty-Two Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 24\. Natasha reflects on being a mother for her little girl.
> 
> "“Спи спокойно, любовь моя,” Sleep tight, my love, she whispers those familiar words, pressing a kiss on Sarah’s head as she feels her chest ache slightly. “Мама любит тебя.” Mama loves you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this initially as part of a double-update stint, but I took it down to edit some more things and instead left the other one still up. So here I am, posting this the following day instead of my usual two-day allowance stint. Sorry! But okay, here it is.

When Natasha first found out she was having a daughter, she was terrified.

“Mama.” Sarah calls for her softly, and Natasha looks up from her laptop, and smiles when she sees Sarah toddling slowly towards the couch. Natasha is working, deciding to do so on the couch so she can watch Sarah play on her playmat in the living room while she completes training evaluations for S.H.I.E.L.D.. Natasha puts her laptop aside, and leans down when her two-year-old gets to the edge of the couch, pressing a kiss on her forehead and smoothing her daughter’s hair. Sarah lifts a hand, presenting to Natasha a piece of paper.

Natasha feigns a gasp, as she looks at the paper Sarah is holding. “What’d you got there, baby?” she asks, and Sarah giggles, bouncing on her feet as she gives to Natasha the paper. Natasha lifts Sarah, pressing a kiss on the side of her head and sitting her on Natasha’s lap as she takes the paper from her daughter’s hand.

It’s a picture of a butterfly.

“Tatowfwy,” Sarah tells her mother softly, looking up at her with her beautiful smile. “Tatowfwy fow Mama.”

It _is _a butterfly. Even though Sarah is only two years old, Natasha can sincerely say that she’s pretty damn proud that her daughter can already somehow know how to draw basic shapes and draw the things she sees, like flowers and leaves (usually drawn as circles, but since she colors it green, Natasha figures that they’re leaves), and even rough drawings of trees. Steve had mentioned to Natasha before about their daughter’s current obsession with butterflies, especially when they brought her and James to a Butterfly Sanctuary once and she had fallen in love with all the colorful creatures she saw. She was practically squealing and vibrating in excitement in Steve’s arms back then.

Her daughter drew her a butterfly, one with blue wings, rough lines, curves and offset coloring like that of a two-year-old’s, but she doesn’t care. It’s one of the most beautiful butterflies she has ever seen.

“It’s beautiful, little one,” Natasha praises, and Sarah giggles as Natasha leans her head against her daughter’s, pressing another kiss on her forehead as she looks at it, sincerely unable to keep the smile off her face as she stares at her daughter’s beautiful drawing. _And it’s hers, _she thinks. _This drawing and this beautiful little girl, both are hers. _“Thank you so much.”

“Wuv it?” Sarah asks and Natasha chuckles, nodding.

“I _love _it so much,” she says, rubbing her nose against Sarah’s, and the girl dissolves into giggles as Natasha pulls her closer to her body. “I love you, my little Sarah.”

“Wuv you, Mama.” Sarah replies softly, and she lifts her hands, placing it on either side of Natasha’s face and pressing a loud kiss on Natasha’s nose, and Natasha squeals, making Sarah laugh loudly, especially when Natasha presses a kiss on the girl’s nose, as Sarah cuddles closer to her mother.

Natasha swears she can feel her heart fluttering and her chest swelling with the overwhelming love she feels for her daughter. She smooths her daughter’s blonde wavy hair, as the two-year-old hums contentedly, letting out a small yawn and closing her eyes and snuggling closer to her mother.

“You getting sleepy, baby?” she asks softly, and Sarah nods, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand as she snuggles closer to her mother’s chest. Natasha chuckles, putting her drawing on top of her laptop, and rubbing her hand over the little girl’s arm.

Natasha presses soft kisses on the toddler’s head and face, knowing very well that her little girl is really close to sleeping and passing out in her Mommy’s arms. Natasha looks at the clock and smiles, because it _is _time for her little girl’s afternoon nap. She continues to smooth Sarah’s hair, adjusting her in her arms and leaning back on the couch, so her baby girl’s head is leaning on her chest, just right above where her heart is, where she knows it will automatically lull Sarah to sleep, and where she can feel her daughter’s chest rise slowly as she breathes in her sleep. She looks down, and she smiles when she sees her daughter’s face is so peaceful, innocent and so, so beautiful.

For a second, it makes her wonder why she had ever been so terrified of having her in the first place.

And it wasn’t really much because she thought she was going to be a bad mother because she had long ago come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t. Ever since having James, she had gained more and more confidence everyday to think that she was anything _but _a terrible mother. She started to believe she was good, boosted further by Steve’s encouragement and support, their friends’ reinforcements, and James’ smiles, kisses and laughter for her.

So no, when she found out she was having a girl, it’s not really because she thought she was going to be a bad mother.

“Спи спокойно, любовь моя,” _Sleep tight, my love, _she whispers those familiar words, pressing a kiss on Sarah’s head as she feels her chest ache slightly. “Мама любит тебя.” _Mama loves you._

She tightens her arms around her daughter securely, smoothing her back gently as the little girl stirs in her arms into a more comfortable position, with Sarah snuggling her head further in the crook of Natasha’s neck. Natasha hums a tune softly, until Sarah calms down in her arms, and Natasha closes her eyes and leans her head on her daughter’s.

_Sleep tight, my love. Mama loves you._

It doesn’t usually make her emotional, the way she always says it to lull James to his naps when he used to call him Mama before he can say Mommy, but now, with Sarah, she finds that she does.

Because the last time she whispered that to a baby girl in her arms: Спи спокойно, любовь моя, Мама любит тебя, _Sleep tight, my love. Mama loves you, _she kissed her small head and hummed a tune, a lullaby of some sorts as she pressed her closer to her chest, where she can feel her chest against her own. She kept her voice even, because she knew it would be her last memory of her Mama, so she fought to keep her voice even and soft even if her voice was threatening to break as tears threatened to fall, and her song beautiful and soothing as she gently lulled the baby to her final sleep, to her last moments. She felt her small chest rise and contract, and counted the minutes until she couldn’t feel it anymore.

She didn’t make it to a minute. _Twenty-two seconds. _She felt her breathe for twenty-two seconds before she was gone.

She looks down at Sarah, and she knows she didn’t have to count, because she is healthy, and she is happy and vibrant like how any normal baby girl should be. But she still counts: _one, two, three... _because even if her baby girl is two years old, she still fears when she holds her against her chest, she will be gone in twenty-two seconds the same way as before. She sighs in relief every time the twenty-two seconds are up, and she is still breathing in her arms. But she feels a pang in her chest every time, still, because she remembers, and she gets terrified.

She remembers Rose.

_I think you should hold her, Natasha. _Natasha can still remember Elena, the only woman beside her as she gave birth, telling her that, and when she refused, she scoffed and called her, “трус”, _coward. _But she is anything but _that, _so she did, albeit struggling at first because she was young, and she had never held a baby before. The baby squirmed and struggled too, and when she settled comfortably in her arms, that’s when she started counting.

_One, two, three…, _she started counting. The thought of it made her remember why she was terrified of having a baby girl in the first place.

Steve knew about this, of course, because she told him, one time when they were talking about the future of the two of them, and having kids. “It had been a long time ago, sweetheart,” Steve told her gently, the first time she confessed to him about the deeper parts of her past nobody ever got to know. She was initially afraid he would think differently of her, not love her anymore the way he did, but of course, she was wrong. “She would’ve wanted her Mama to live, even though she didn’t get to.”

_Even though her Mama buried her even before she got to live. _It had been a long time ago, as what Steve said, when she was sixteen and Nikolai was seventeen, when he was still alive, and she was still the Red Room’s pawn. It was a long time ago, when the gold wedding ring on her finger now used to be a silk ribbon tied around it, when she got married to someone without anyone presiding it, when her vows were childlike and idealistic, unfulfilled and futile because he had died not long after that.

“A little piece of ribbon kept me together after that,” Natasha confessed to Steve, who looked at her with so much understanding and unwavering love that she felt ashamed for ever even thinking he was going to change how he loved her just because of something from her past. “I was hurt, and devastated and grieving, but the ribbon around my finger kept me together.”

The same way her gold wedding ring, her two beautiful children and loving husband is keeping her together now.

He asked her to show him where she buried her baby. They were in Russia for a mission, where she confessed to him about things from her past nobody else knew, and they were about to go home when Steve had asked her about that, so she took him there. She took him deep into the forest, where she started breathing shakily, and he held her together by holding her hand as she guided him through, and to an unmarked grave under a willow tree by the clearing, between two large boulders, where a small patch of grass seemed to grow differently than the rest.

“What was her name?” he asked her, and Natasha’s eyes filled with tears at the memory of a beautiful baby girl who had just been born, but had to leave immediately. She had to leave because her mother didn’t protect her, because her father had died, and she wanted to go with him immediately.

“Rose,” she answered. “Her name was Rose.”

She had been terrified of having kids, that much was clear to Steve before, not because she thought it was impossible for her to have one, but it was because she already _had _one, and she didn’t make it.

It was a miracle enough that she was able to deliver her first child with Steve, James, healthily without thinking about her, because when she delivered her, she wasn’t healthy, nor was she going to live for a long time, but she didn’t think that as she held James in her arms for the first time. But when she found out she was having a second child, and that she was a girl, she was absolutely _terrified. _Because the last time she had a baby girl, she had died after holding her for twenty-two seconds in her arms. Her body had failed her—her precious little baby girl—didn’t protect her when her body should have been the safest space for her to grow and live. But instead, it failed her, _she _failed her, and she died there too—in her arms, after twenty-two seconds.

So when little Sarah was born, she gave herself the moment when Steve went to get their little boy from their friends, and counted to twenty-two, as she watched her new baby girl suckle on her breast hungrily, giving her life instead of taking it away from her like how it happened with her little Rose. After the count of twenty-two, and she found her little Sarah was still breathing, drinking and living in her arms, her eyes filled with tears as she held back a sob.

Because she felt as if a little bit of Rose had lived through Sarah too, even just in that moment, the first time Natasha counted to twenty-two and Sarah was still her living little girl. Natasha felt a huge weight had been lifted off her chest, as if she was being released by the ghost of grief over Nikolai, and by the ghost of her haunting grief over Rose.

_She would’ve wanted her Mama to live, even though she didn’t get to._

She never wanted to forget her either, and Steve didn't want that either. So he insisted on naming their daughter Sarah Rose, two girls that had impacted both of their lives in so many different ways, and two girls whom they miss so much. They allowed these two to live through their little girl, so she can be who they were, who they were supposed to be, and even better.

And she loves Sarah for it, because she embodies the young innocence of her little Rose, and the love of Sarah Rogers, even at such a young age, at the same time while being _her_ own person.

“Mama loves you,” she whispers to her sleeping daughter in her arms, pressing a kiss on top of her blonde wavy hair. “Mama loves you so much, little one.” She whispers it to both Sarah and Rose, wherever she is, surely looking down from heaven watching over her Mama and her two siblings.

She still dreams about Rose time and time again, and most of which will only make her more terrified about Sarah, who always sleeps so closely between her parents just because she likes too. So she would pull her little girl closer to her and listen to her breathe, and she would be assured. But these dreams won’t end either, even if it meant counting to twenty-two and still feeling her baby girl breathing against her. The dreams won’t end, and she wouldn’t want them to, not if it meant forgetting. She can never forget, never about Nikolai and especially never about her Rose.

She would live those dreams again and again no matter how much it hurts her, but she finds that it can hurt less as each day passes, as she continues to find that her daughter's breaths as she sleeps can still go way past twenty-two seconds, and never stop . She hopes for the day the pain will ease and eventually disappear, but until then, she thinks, when it hurts, she knows she is alive, and through her, _they _live too. Wherever they are, they live through her.

Wherever her little Rose is, she still lives, even if it be through her Mama, or her sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The storyline of Nikolai and Rose are based on the Black Widow: The Name of the Rose (2011) comics. I loved the series, and I highly recommend that you guys also read it if you have time. If you're also a hardcore BuckyNat shipper, then this series is gold.
> 
> Reviews, comments and prompts appreciated!


	25. Golden Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25\. Multiple prompts: Despite loving Sarah James is jealous of the new baby because his parents need to spend a lot of time with the new baby
> 
> "James lets out a soft whimper as he looks up, his bottom lip sticking out and wobbling as his eyes flicker between his Mommy and Daddy. “Do you and Daddy love Sarah more than me?” he asks in a small voice, and he is ashamed to ask, but he wants to know, needs to know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss writing about little James. All the fics I've been writing so far are all teenage James and Sarah so this is kind of a breath of fresh air to reedit and post. This one's from steveandnatlover's and MarvelObsessedgirl3's requests of a jealous big brother James. Hope you like it!

James is sad.

Or as sad as he allows himself to be, much less admit it to himself to be. He sits on the couch of their living room, swings his legs back and forth as he looks up to find his Daddy coming out of the room. His Mommy is in there, and baby Sarah too, and his Daddy smiles as he closes the door behind him, and James stretches a bit to find a flash of red hair that he knows is his Mommy’s before his Daddy closes the door.

“You wanna play, buddy?” he asks, and James sighs, because not really, not anymore.

He looks down at the toys on the floor, on his playmat—the toy cars, soldier and dinosaur figurines and legos all spread out from when he was ready to ask his Mommy and Daddy to play with him just a few minutes ago. They never play with him, not lately anymore, so he figured he might ask them to play today. They have both been spending a lot of time with baby Sarah, who was born just four months ago, and he misses playing with them. And since he cannot play with Sarah yet (not with the toys because the last time he gave her a small toy car, she almost ate it), he might as well continue to ask his parents to play.

But when he asked, and when his Mommy sat on the couch with his sister on her lap, Sarah began to cry ( _ again, _ James thought) and his Mommy tried her best to shush as she picked her up and his Daddy stood as well and they began fussing over Sarah. James wanted to help too, but he also wanted to play, so he called for his Daddy to play with him because he saw his Mommy had gotten Sarah in her arms.

His Mommy murmured something to his Daddy, something about feeding Sarah. His Mommy looked tired as she cuddled baby Sarah nearer her chest, and she always had been ever since Sarah was born, so his Daddy told James to wait and they entered their bedroom.

“We’ll play in a while, buddy.” Steve told him patiently, and James pouted.

“You always say ‘a while’.” James pointed out, and his Daddy sighed.

“I know, Jamie,” Steve responded patiently. “But Sarah needs Mommy and Daddy’s help too.”

So there it was again.  _ Sarah needs Mommy and Daddy’s help. _ So James deflated as he watched his parents carry his baby sister back into their bedroom, Sarah’s cries fading and disappearing as his Daddy closed the door behind them, and in front of James. They always say that for the last few months, how Sarah needs Mommy and Daddy, and he feels sad, because he needs them too, and wants them to play with him because they haven’t played with him for a long time already.

He feels sad because he feels like they don’t want to spend time with him anymore because they’re always with Sarah, so now he’s not really in the mood to play anymore.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to.” he says quietly, looking down at his small and khaki shorts. He still does, he figures, but not with his Daddy, and not with his Mommy either and not with Sarah, because they might end up just cutting their playtime short to fuss over her again.

Steve walks over and sits on the couch beside his son. He picks up one of his favorite dinosaur figurines. “We can play now,” Steve says lightly, but James only looks down at his small hands, clasped together on his lap, with his thumbs fumbling with each other. Steve’s smile fades slightly. “Well, what do you wanna do?”

_ Nothing, really. _ He doesn’t want to play anymore for sure, so he just doesn’t say anything, instead sinking down further in the couch as his eyes fall on his hands fumbling on his lap.

Steve notices this, the way his son pouts, sticking out his bottom lip and looking downtrodden, his hands clasped in his lap and thumbs fumbling with each other. It’s what he usually does when he’s upset, or when he’s nervous, and right now Steve is lost in figuring out why he might be either. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asks softly, leaning down a bit to inch himself closer to his son, but James just shakes his head. “Don’t wanna play anymore? How about we watch a movie, hm? What do you say about Finding Nemo?”

James’ bottom lip wobbles and shakes his head, and Steve only gets more puzzled and perplexed. “Hey,” he says softly, going off the couch and kneeling in front of James, smoothing his mussed red hair from his face and smoothing his cheek gently, as he gives his son a small smile. “Something’s bothering my little boy, hm?” he tries asking again, his voice soft as his thumb brushes James’ small chin, and the little boy looks up at his father. “You can tell me. You can tell Daddy.”

James contemplates and his pout deepens, as he looks down at his hands again, and Steve patiently waits, watching his son’s reactions carefully. “You don’t play with me anymore,” he says in a small voice. “You and Mommy don’t play with me anymore ever since Sarah was here.”

Steve blinks and watches as his son slowly deflates a little bit in his seat, and Steve sighs. “Jamie,” he starts gently and softly, as he brushes his son’s cheeks with both his thumbs. “You know Sarah is still a little baby who needs both me and Mommy, right? We told you that from the start, that she needs Mommy and Daddy’s time like you did when you were a baby like her.”

But James doesn’t remember those times, and he wants to spend more time with his parents  _ now. _ And he feels as if... _ no, _ he wouldn’t think that, he shouldn’t think that, right? His Mommy and Daddy love him, as they say so everyday, but why does it feel like they love Sarah more than him?

_ Do Mommy and Daddy love Sarah more than me? _

And James couldn’t help the tears fill his eyes as he thinks that, and a small whimper coming out of his mouth. Steve’s eyes widen as he gathers his son in his arms, and James goes to his father’s arms willingly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and burying his face in the crook of his neck as Steve shushes him softly, rubbing James’ back. “Hey, it’s okay,” Steve says soothingly, sitting back on the couch and pulling James closer to his body as he presses a soft kiss on the side of his head. “It’s okay now, Jamie. Don’t cry. Don’t be sad now.”

But James  _ is _ sad, evident with the continuous flow of tears coming from his eyes, because of the things he’s been thinking: about how his Mommy and Daddy spend more time with Sarah now more than him, about how possibly they might love her more than him. He thinks because if they do, he might be left alone, and they will leave him, and he will end up living with his uncles and aunties but he wants to live with Mommy and Daddy and Sarah. What does he have to do so they can love him again?

James doesn’t register the sound of his’ parents’ bedroom door opening and closing as Natasha comes out, closing the door gently behind her, and her eyes widening in surprise when she sees James crying in Steve’s arms. She had just let Sarah fall asleep after feeding her, has only been gone for a few minutes, and now she sees  _ this. _

“Hey,” Natasha says softly, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion as her eyes focus on her son. She takes a seat beside Steve as she rests a hand on James’ back. “What’s wrong? What’s got my little boy so sad, hm?”

And at the sound of her voice, James wants to cry more. He lifts his head from Steve’s shoulder just as Natasha extends her arms for James, and he allows her to take him, as he wraps his arms around her neck, pulling her closer to him and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Natasha looks at Steve, confused, as she rubs James’ back gently, and presses a kiss on his hair. Steve sighs, resting a hand over Natasha’s on James’ back.

Natasha pulls away from James slightly, and he doesn’t cling back, instead loosening his arms around his mother and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling softly and letting out small whimpers. Natasha lets him sit on her lap as she leans to press a kiss on his forehead, and the tip of his nose. “What’s wrong, little guy?” she asks softly. “Wanna tell Mommy, hm?” She lifts a hand to brush the tears from his cheeks gently and James sniffles. “Tell Mommy what made her little boy sad?”

James lets out a soft whimper as he looks up, his bottom lip sticking out and wobbling as his eyes flicker between his Mommy and Daddy. “Do you and Daddy love Sarah more than me?” he asks in a small voice, and he  _ is _ ashamed to ask, but he wants to know,  _ needs  _ to know. Besides, they’re asking him.

And the question confuse both Steve and Natasha too, whose eyes widen in surprise and absurdity of the question in itself, because how can their little boy think that? Why would their little boy think that?

“No,” Natasha answers immediately, her voice firm yet soft and gentle, like how he usually talks to James. “No, no, baby, no. Daddy and I love you and Sarah equally, babe.” She smooths her son’s hair, and looks at Steve. “Don’t we, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Steve says softly, nodding as he rests his hand on James’ back, smoothing it up and down gently. “Mommy and I love you and baby Sarah equally, both  _ so _ very much too.” Steve pauses. “Is that what you thought? That me and Mommy are spending more time with Sarah because you think we love her more than you?”

Natasha pauses, and she feels her chest constricting as she looks at James, who slowly nods as more tears fill his eyes, threatening to fall. “‘Cause you don’t wanna play with me anymore too,” he adds quietly in a small voice. “You play a lot with Sarah, not me, and when she cries you’re both always there.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Natasha says softly, pulling James back to her chest, and pressing kisses on his head as she smooths his back gently. “I’m sorry me and Daddy don’t spend a lot of time with you anymore. But you have to understand, baby,  _ please  _ understand. Sarah is only a little baby, and she’s not yet as grown as you, and she still needs Mommy and Daddy’s help to do lots of things that you still can’t because you’re a big boy now.”

“And Jamie, doesn’t mean that Mommy and I spend less time with you now than before doesn’t mean we love you less,” Steve adds softly and Natasha nods, pressing a kiss on James head. “We’re sorry we don’t play with you as much anymore, but we still love you the same way. We even love you  _ more _ now than before.”

“Because we love you more everyday.” Natasha finishes softly, and Steve smiles as he rests his hand on James’ back who turns his head to face his father. He sniffles softly, his blue eyes wide and still glistening with tears. Steve gives him a small smile and leans to press a kiss on his forehead.

“You promise?” James asks softly, and Steve nods, his smile widening.

“We do, we  _ promise, _ ” Steve responds softly. He gets a sudden thought, and his smile widens even more. “Tell you what. How about, everyday, we have this special time for you, where me and Mommy just play with you, and  _ just _ you. We can do whatever you want, just as long as we’re inside the house. We can play with your toys, watch your favorite movies, or just cuddle if you want.”

“Yeah, it can be like James Time,” Natasha adds, smiling, as James lifts his head to look at both of his parents. “Yeah? Just a time for you, where me and Daddy will just focus on you. How does that sound?”

James loves the sound of that, really  _ loves _ the idea of having his parents all for himself. But if they love him as equally as Sarah, he’s scared that Sarah might feel that they love him more than her, or  _ worse, _ that James doesn’t love  _ her? _ He doesn’t want that. As sad as he may be that Sarah is getting all the time and attention, he doesn’t want her to feel excluded, and he doesn’t want her to feel sad too, in case she sees that their parents have a special time for him, but not for her apart from when she is crying or hungry.

So, really, he doesn’t know what to do nor does he know what he wants.

“I don’t want that,” James says softly, shaking his head, and Natasha and Steve look upset as they deflate when James says that. “Because Sarah might be jealous too when she grows up and sees there’s only James Time.”

Natasha furrows her eyebrows a little, because she thought her son wants to have his parents all for himself, and not have it divided with Sarah? But at the same time, her heart flutters inside her chest as she thinks about how his baby boy has got  _ so _ much love for his baby sister, that even if he is a  _ little _ jealous that she gets to hoard more time from their parents, he still considers about what she might possibly feel (which could be nothing, really, because Sarah is still a baby, but Natasha didn’t want to pop James’ bubble in that). She looks at Steve, and he seems to be as confused as she is, so she sighs.

“James, baby…” she trails off, and shakes her head, but then a thought pops in her head. “Okay. How about this, hm? Whenever Sarah is asleep, and she does sleep a lot, we can have James Time,  _ lots _ and lots of it, and when Sarah wakes up, she can join us. It can be James and Sarah Time when she wakes up, where we all play, or you can play with her while Daddy and I can watch you. How does that sound?”

James tilts her head and thinks about it. “But will Sarah have Sarah Time too?” he asks softly.

“Sarah has her own Sarah Time too, whenever me and Mommy team up when she gets fussy and hungry, and whenever you’re asleep but she’s not,” Steve answers gently, and Natasha nods, smiling at her son. “We’ve been having more Sarah Time, so this time, we wanna make a James Time too, just for you. And then when Sarah wakes up, it’ll be James and Sarah Time.”

“How does that sound, baby?” Natasha asks, smiling widely.

And James deems it’s fair, that he will have his own time, while Sarah has her own, and then they’ll have a combined James and Sarah Time when his sister wakes up. He likes it,  _ really _ likes it, and he thinks it’s possible.

“You promise?” he asks again, in a small voice. He needs to know if it’s possible  _ for _ his parents too. “You promise about the James Time?”

“Yes,” both of his parents answer, nodding, and smiling at him. “We promise, baby. We promise.” Natasha adds softly, leaning in to press a kiss on the tip of James’ nose, and the little boy giggles softly. 

“Okay,” James answers, smiling a bit. “Is it James Time now?”

“Yeah, Jamie,” Steve answers, smiling as he ruffles James’ hair, and the little boy laughs softly. “We can do whatever you want now, just as long as we’re just inside.”

James nods and grins, and he wiggles off his mother’s arms and into his playmat, as Natasha and Steve look at each other and smile, both of them following their son on the playmat, sitting down as he offers to them his toy cars and figurines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in all fairness to the latest prompts about teenage James and Sarah, I really do enjoy reading and writing them, especially it shows like a new aspect to Steve and Natasha's parenting. Keep 'em coming if you have them!
> 
> As per usual, reviews, kudos and prompts very welcome!


	26. The Best Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 26\. Prompt: Sarah tells Steve and James about the boy she likes.
> 
> "Because even if she had rehearsed the litany inside her head plenty of times since she was in the shower just a few hours ago, she still managed to blurt out the one line she told herself she should never start with: “I think I’ve got a boyfriend.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct follow-up of Chapter 23: The Feelings of Love, where many of you requested for Steve's and James' reactions to the events that transpired in the chapter. So this one's for natrgrs, RomanogersEvansson and all the others who wanted a follow-up or requested for the prompt mentioned above.
> 
> Hope you guys like it!

Sarah groans and buries her face in her hands as she continues to listen to her father and brothers’ collective shooting of various questions and their  _ own _ answers and assumptions to questions, both of their faces in pure disbelief and shock at the news that the youngest female Rogers has a lovelife. Of course, she expected it, and her mother had warned her about it too.

But she didn’t expect it would be  _ this _ bad.

She hears Natasha let out a soft chuckle, her chuckle distinct, gentle, and sounding  _ almost _ amused above her father and brothers’ disbelieved voices, and she moves her fingers covering her eyes so she can narrow her eyes at her mother. Natasha’s eyes widen at her, raising an eyebrow and shrugging, as if telling her,  _ I have no part in this, _ and attempts to hide her smile behind the rim of her glass of water.

_ She’s supposed to be on my side. _

So upon her mother’s advice, Sarah decided to tell her father and brother about David later that same day, during dinner when both men would be back from S.H.I.E.L.D. training, with Steve overseeing one and James recently joining in one too. So after they both reach the floor, Natasha and Sarah had just finished showering and dressing up, and after their usual hugs, kisses and greetings, the boys take their shower, get dressed while Natasha and Sarah help each other out preparing dinner.

It was also where Natasha had encouraged Sarah to tell her father and brother about David too. “It’s better if you tell them now, instead of waiting a bit longer,” she told her daughter, and smirked. “Because you know your Dad, and you know how much time he’ll need to get over a shock as big as this.”

Sarah scrunched her nose and looked at her mother. “You’re saying that like Dad will take it badly.” she pointed out, but Natasha chuckled and shook her head.

“He won’t take it  _ bad _ bad as in  _ negative _ bad,” she explained. “But you’ll soon see how I meant when I say your father, and I’m sure I can say the same with your brother, will have reactions that will make you wish you never said anything. But don’t you worry, I did say I got you, right?” She nudged her daughter by the hip and Sarah laughed softly, nodding, believing her mother.

Dinner starts smoothly at first, of course, with Steve and James sharing about their day in S.H.I.E.L.D.. Natasha had been asking Steve to take over her training sessions so she can spend more time with Sarah (and because she likes dancing more than training, but she doesn’t admit that to anyone), so Steve also reports to his wife about her trainees. Sarah had been nervous during the entire dinner, of course, and it didn’t help that their usual seating arrangement included James being beside her, instead of her mother being beside her. Natasha kept on shooting Sarah assuring glances and sly winks, and it helps quell the nervousness, but it doesn’t completely eliminate it either.

She had this  _ whole _ litany of what to say: starting from asking them if they remember Hope, Billy and David, her three closest friends from school whom they have  _ surely _ met because of her birthday party. Then she would tell them that David was the one who bought her the necklace she’d always worn since then, the one with her birthstone in it, and then she’d tell them how she found him really cute, and smart, and say any good thing that she can think of about David, butter him up a little for her brother and father, and then she can drop the bomb. Maybe in that way, she’d get less reactive questions, and more questions that are calm and well thought-of.

Although in hindsight, maybe it  _ was _ her fault why they had began reacting this way.

Because even if she had rehearsed the litany inside her head plenty of times since she was in the shower just a few hours ago, she still managed to blurt out the  _ one _ line she told herself she should never start with.

“I think I’ve got a boyfriend.”

And Natasha chokes on her water, as James coughs out the mashed potato he was eating and Steve’s eyes widen comically, his hand holding his fork stopping mid-air in front of his already-open mouth. There was a two-second pause where Sarah felt the color drain from her face, and she closed her eyes and let out an exasperated groan as the questions began.

“You  _ think _ you’ve got a boyfriend?” was the first thing James blurted out, still coughing out the mashed potatoes stuck in his throat.

“Who is he?” Steve had asked immediately at the same time as James, dropping his fork on his plate.

“No, wait I said it wrongly, I—” Sarah attempted to recover herself, but she was immediately cut off.

“How can you just  _ think _ you have a boyfriend?” James continued, his voice getting louder as he starts to flail his arms, and run his hands through his hair in a  _ very  _ stressed manner that Sarah had never seen him before.

“Is he someone  _ I _ know? Someone your mother knows?” Steve’s eyes widened at his wife, who just sipped on her water coolly, attempting to hide the smile forming on her mouth.

“I...yeah? I think you—”

“You don’t get to just  _ think _ you have a boyfriend, Sarah, you either do or you don’t, and I’d prefer it if you  _ don’t!” _ James continued, and at this point, Sarah had let out a loud groan, but was eventually overpowered by his Dad’s exclamation.

“Oh my God, Nat, you  _ do _ know!” he exclaimed, leaning back away from his wife, and Natasha raised an eyebrow at him amusedly. “How are you  _ not _ reacting to this? Didn’t you hear what she just said?”

“You don’t get to just  _ think _ you have a boyfriend, Sarah!” Of course, James was  _ not _ done.

“Alright, alright, you guys!” Sarah shouted, eventually shutting both her father and brother up. “Can you just let me explain, please? Just for  _ one _ minute, and then questions.”

“How can you expect—” Steve began to say, but Natasha had put her hand over Steve’s mouth, and Steve glared at his wife, but Natasha just narrowed her eyes at her husband, and smiled sweetly at Sarah and nodded, and Sarah sighed and smiled at her mother.

“Thank you, Mom,” Sarah said. “Okay.  _ No, _ I don’t have a boyfriend now.  _ Not  _ yet, at least.” James began to say something, but then Sarah did the same thing as her mother and covered James’ mouth with her hand, as she glared at her brother who was also glaring at her. “I said  _ one _ minute, James,  _ one  _ minute, and you can ask.”

James rolled his eyes and mumbled something against her hand, of what Sarah assumed to be a ‘fine’, so she pulled away her hand, and James rested his elbow on the table and rested his head on his closed fist, a frown on his face. “Okay.  _ Yes, _ I did tell Mom first, because I  _ knew _ you were going to react this way, and I needed at least someone on my side to not react this way,” she started, and narrowed her eyes at her father who looked at Natasha and raised an eyebrow, and Natasha pulled her hand away, smiling sweetly at her husband as she pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “And  _ no, _ he’s not my boyfriend  _ yet,  _ and  _ yes, _ he did ask me just very recently. His name is David, David Alleyne, if you remember, one of my close friends in school along with Hope and Billy.”

“The smart mutant one?” James asked, and Sarah glared at her brother who shrugged, but she sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, the smart mutant one,” she conceded, rolling her eyes, but she couldn’t help, still, the small smile forming on her mouth as she remembered David. And the smile, of course, went unnoticed by her family—as both Steve and James looked at her incredulously, and Natasha smiled. “He’s...he’s a nice guy. And he treats people well, he treats  _ me _ well, and he understands me too, and...I really like him, okay? And he likes me too, and he said it, and...he asked me to be his girlfriend.” She sighed. “I didn’t say anything, okay? Not yet. Not...not until you say yes, not until you let me date someone like him.”

James blinked, and Steve paused. “Y-you wanna date him?” James stammered, and Sarah rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I literally just  _ said _ that.”

“How old is he?” Steve asked.

“Fifteen, same age as me.”

“Oh, you guys are too young.” James pointed out, but Sarah glared at him.

“You were fourteen when you started dating someone for a  _ month!” _

“Which is why I don’t want you making rash decisions on your own!” James defended. “Pushover.” he muttered.

“Heartbreaker.”

“James.” Natasha said, her voice lacing with both amusement and warning, and James shrugged at his mother, giving him a small, sheepish smile, knowing  _ very _ well how his mother had reacted to that.

“Doesn’t mean your brother’s not wrong.” Steve said.

“Steve.” Natasha warned, looking up at her husband, but Steve’s eyes widened and shook his head at his wife.

“What, don’t tell me you immediately said  _ yes _ when she asked you?” he asked, and Natasha stayed silent, and Steve slowly narrowed his eyes. “You said yes.” he told his wife, who shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m going to let Sarah date whoever she likes and whoever makes her happy, and if she says David makes her happy, then so be it.”

“You haven’t even  _ met _ this David!” Steve exclaimed.

“I have, in fact, met him, and he is a fine young man,” Natasha answered, narrowing her eyes at Steve. “And  _ you _ don’t get to raise your voice like that at me, mister.” She had a small teasing smirk, but Steve deflated and sighed, running his hands through his hair, and Sarah had to hide her smile in amusement.

“First date?” James asked, turning his body so he is  _ fully _ facing his sister.

“Black Tap.”

James made a sound, sticking his tongue out and rolling his eyes. “Lame.”

“You say that, but it’s where Mom and Dad had their first date.”

James looked at their parents, who both nodded at the same time. “Okay, fine, smarty-pants,  _ not _ lame. What did he order?”

“Churro Choco Taco, and I got Brooklyn Blackout.”

“Mom, what did Dad order when you guys went to  _ your _ first date in Black Tap?”

“How is that related to  _ anything?” _ Sarah asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Cakeshake, while your mother also got Brooklyn Blackout.” Steve answered, looking over at his wife with a fond smile on his face.

“Not a match!” James exclaimed, pointing at his parents, and Sarah glared at her brother. “Not meant to be like Mom and Dad.”

“The flavors don't mean anything!” Sarah exclaimed just as James rolled his eyes, and  Steve chuckled.

“It’s her favorite ‘till this day, alongside Buttermilk Fried Chicken Tenders which we still get whenever we go out.” He smiled sweetly at Natasha who smiled back and chuckled.

James narrowed his eyes at his parents, as if inspecting how they look at each other, and looked at Sarah. “Will he ever look at you the way Dad looks at Mom?” he asked, and Sarah huffed.

“How am I supposed to  _ tell? _ No!  _ This _ is more than two decades in the making!” Sarah said, gesturing over at their parents.

“Doesn’t mean your Dad never looked at me the same way in the beginning.” Natasha said, making Steve grin wider as he pressed a kiss on her cheek.

“You’re damn right I did.” Steve answered.

“Mom, you’re supposed to be on  _ my _ side!” Sarah exclaimed, exasperated, as Natasha chuckled.

“And Churro Choco Taco is a pretty odd choice.” James proceeded, looking up as if thinking.

“It  _ is. _ Probably ‘cause of the cinnamon toast crunch by the rim.” Steve agreed, and James immediately nodded, and Sarah groaned exasperatedly.

“Right, Dad? Who  _ likes _ having cinnamon crunch by the rim?” James asked, and Steve let out a huffed chuckle.

“ _ David, _ apparently.” Steve said, and Sarah cringed, because he said it so  _ mockingly _ like a child it was almost bad, and even Natasha beside him had rolled her eyes and shook her head. “He paid for your shake?” Steve continued.

“He should, right? Or else that would be a  _ complete _ no-no for Sarah.” James pointed out and Steve nodded, leaning in to the table, interested in furthering the topic.

“But then again, it can also be that he’s assuming Sarah’s not capable,” Steve said, narrowing his eyes. “That she’s inferior, powerless of some sorts.”

“I mean, I’m sure he knows who her parents are, and who her brother is.”

“You’re not even that well-known, Jamie.” Sarah pointed out.

“And who her uncles and aunties are if he did go to Sarah’s birthday party,” James continued, ignoring his sister’s comment. “Surely, he’d know, and he’d know what we can do if he hurt her, right, Dad?”

“For sure,” Steve agreed, nodding. “But Churro Choco Taco, though.”

“Really weird choice, like didn’t he get bothered by the toast crunch, like did he  _ eat _ it first before drinking the shake?”

Which brings her back to the present, her face buried in her hands as she listens in exasperation to her brother and father going back and forth between David’s choice of milkshake and questioning his every move without even stopping to ask her. They had gone from David assuming Sarah has no money, to how Sarah got home, to whether he joins her for lunch at school or walks her back near the Tower, then back to David’s choice of Churro Choco Taco.

Yeah, now she can  _ finally _ understand what her mother meant by bad, in the sense that she wished she didn’t mention it  _ at all. _ She looks at her mother and sticks her lower lip out, begging her mother for her help, because she doesn't  _ know _ what to do, and she is seriously wishing she never  _ did _ say anything in the first place.

“Help.” Sarah mouths to her mother, and Natasha laughs softly, nodding her head as she straightens in her seat.

Natasha sighs and puts her glass of water down. “Alright, boys,” she announces. “Here’s the deal.” She looks at both Steve and James who stops mid-conversation back to David’s choice of milkshakes and possible alternatives based on his possible personality (that if Sarah wasn’t  _ as _ affected, she would have  _ loved _ to listen to it).

“You are both going to stop criticizing David’s choice of milkshake, stop questioning his small and simple moves such as paying for Sarah’s milkshakes and walking her near the Tower after school, and you are both going to be  _ adults _ when the day comes that Sarah will invite David to our place for dinner,” she says, and Sarah’s eyes widen. “And  _ yes, _ young lady, you  _ will _ invite David so we can get to know him better. It’s part of the whole saying yes thing we’ve talked about.”

“How sure are you we’re saying yes?” Steve asks his wife.

“And you will  _ both _ act like adults and get to know David beyond his choice of milkshake flavor and ability to pay for their dates,” she continues, looking at Steve and narrowing her eyes at her. “Whether you’ll say yes or not, it doesn’t matter for now, but be sure to make your choice wisely once you meet him, and  _ yes, _ you  _ will _ give him a chance, because if you don’t, then you won’t let Sarah learn how to pick her men wisely.”

“No man will be good enough for her.” James mutters, and Steve nods, and Natasha chuckles.

“You think Clint and Nick thought you were good enough for me when you were trying to court me?” she asks Steve, whose eyes widen. “You may be Captain America, sweetheart, but how sure are you they didn’t say  _ anything _ remotely similar to what you kept on saying about David, and even worse?”

Natasha’s eyes flicker to her son. “And you, young man, how sure are you that you are good enough for the girl you met at fourteen, dated for a month and broke up with her soon after?” James’ eyes widen and pauses. “You don’t think the girl’s parents talked about you the same way you talk about David?”

Natasha sighs. “My point is, you  _ have _ to give this boy the benefit of the doubt until you meet him. And when you do, you still give it to him. No, I don’t think any man will ever be good enough for Sarah, I really don’t, so I agree with you, Jamie, when you say that about your sister,” she says softly, and Sarah just looks at her mother, her lips slightly parted, and Natasha smiles. “But I trust her enough to know that she picked this boy because she thought he’d be right for her, and she can make  _ that _ right decision on her own, of staying and loving, or leaving when necessary. I trust her enough that  _ we  _ raised her well,” She looks at Steve. “And  _ we _ loved her enough for that.” She looks back at James who sighs.

Steve contemplates for a moment, but he relents, sighing as he shakes his head. “Sarah, I just don’t want you to get hurt, alright?” he asks softly, looking at her daughter in the eyes and Sarah smiles and nods.

“I know, Dad,” Sarah answers softly. “But Mom’s right. You  _ have _ to let this one be on me. You have to trust me, Dad, and I promise to do the right thing all the time.”

“You know I still don’t approve of this, right?” James asks, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. “I mean, Mom’s right, no one’s gonna be good enough for you, and I stand by it.”

“Jamie,” Sarah sighs, and James’ frown just deepens, and Sarah gives him a small smile. “I promise to  _ never _ forget about our Smash Bros game nights.”

The corner of James’ mouth quirks up, and then he shrugs. “You should, ‘cause you’re just gonna lose.” he says, and Sarah laughs and shakes her head.

“Not if I use the Villager!” Sarah exclaims, and James laughs loudly now, untangling his arms over his chest as he straightens and shakes his head.

“No, no, not a match for Zelda, for sure,” James says, and Sarah laughs. “And not even against Link.”

“Untrue!” Sarah exclaims, laughing, and she and James begin debating on the game, effectively resuming the pace of their dinner as they continue to eat their food. Steve still sighs, but Natasha nudges him gently on the elbow, smiling up at him as she takes his hand under the table and gives it a light squeeze, and only then does Steve smile.

* * *

Sarah sits back on the couch and fumbles with her phone, waiting for James to finish brushing his teeth (and God knows what else he does after that takes him so long) before coming out of his room for their usual game night. Steve sees her and closes the door behind him from his and Natasha’s room. He sighs and walks over to the couch where her daughter is, as she looks up from her phone and smiles at her father.

“Hey, Dad,” she says softly, putting her phone down on the table beside the couch. “Thought you and Mom were going to sleep already.”

“Yeah, yeah, your Mom’s still getting ready,” he says softly, sitting beside Sarah. He gestures over at his phone. “That David?”

Sarah shakes her head. “No, just Hope, but earlier it was David. Now he’s just gonna study, he said.” she says, and Steve nods.

“Study, huh? You got a test tomorrow?” he asks, and Sarah shakes her head.

“No, he just really likes studying. He even sent me a selfie that he actually  _ is  _ studying,” she says, a smile appearing on her mouth as she grabs her phone and opens her chat room with David. Steve looks at his daughter, and back at the screen, and Sarah doesn’t even attempt to hide their chat as she scrolls, something Steve thought normal teenage girls usually do when their parents are around. But his daughter is not _just_ any other teenage girl, apparently. “Here, see. It’s him.”

And Sarah shows her father David’s photo, and Steve remembers him, indeed, from Sarah’s intimate birthday celebration: the dark tall and handsome man with a big built, gentle voice and dazzling smile. He is smiling at the camera, leaning back so a stack of books can be seen on his desk. “Studying Physics. It’s his favorite class.” she says in a soft and gentle voice, and Steve looks back at Sarah, and despite himself, he smiles when he sees the small but beautiful smile playing on his daughter’s mouth as he looks back at David’s photo.

“I remember him,” Steve says gently, and Sarah looks back at his father. “Yeah, the smart one you said who’s also a mutant.”

Sarah laughs softly, looking back at the photo on her phone. “Yeah, among other things,” she says. She locks her phone and puts it back down on the table beside the couch. She then takes a deep breath and clasps her hands together, resting it on her crossed legs. “Dad, look about David—”

“No, hey, princess, it’s okay,” Steve chuckles softly, wrapping an arm around his daughter, leaning to press a kiss on the side of her head as Sarah automatically smiles at the gesture. “It’s okay. I promise, you don’t...you don’t have to explain anything more.”

Sarah frowns and looks up at her father, and she lets out a huff. “But...but you and Jamie—”

“I know, Sarah, I…” he trails off, and then he turns his body to face his daughter, just as Sarah faces him too. “Your Mom and I talked after dinner just for a short while before she got ready and I got out, and I realized...well, as usual, your mother’s right. About everything she said during dinner, she’s right.”

_ She always is. _

Sarah smiles, letting out a soft chuckle, and Steve smiles. “You know, when your Mom and I first found out we were having a girl, that we were having  _ you, _ we both had different reactions. Your mother...well, you know about that.” She does, because her mother had told her how terrified she was and why, and she was perfectly okay with it because she understood, and knows exactly how much her Mom loves her now anyway. “And I was...well, I was the  _ exact _ opposite of your Mom.” Steve smiles widely. “I was excited, just as excited as I was with James, but a little more. I was happy, and  _ really _ excited that I made myself a promise that I will be the best man figure in your life, apart from James, of course, but I promised myself I will always,  _ always _ make you feel that you’re the most precious, most beautiful and most treasured girl in the world besides your mother.”

Sarah smiles, because she knows her father had exactly done just that, alongside her brother. They may not be perfect, but they still did make her feel like she was all those things she said. “And when you were born, and you looked exactly just like your mother... _ oh _ Sarah, I instantly fell in love with you,” he says softly, smiling, and Sarah giggles softly. “Completely head over heels, and your mother even teased me about it, saying she was replaced by an exact mini Natasha because of how much I doted over you, hovered over you and your Mom just to make sure everything is good for you, and nothing will ever hurt you.” Sarah smiles, and Steve smiles back at his daughter. “I promised myself I would  _ never _ let anyone or anything hurt my baby girl.”

Steve sighs, and gives his daughter a sad smile. “And I guess I’ve always thought and saw you as that:  _ my _ baby girl, not even realizing that time had flown so fast that you have now grown to be a beautiful, wonderful, and most amazing young woman I have ever met. And I say this lightly, because you’re kind of in ties with your Mom there, but you’re just a  _ little _ better,” Steve teases lightly, as Sarah laughs. “And that maybe during that time, you’ve grown to be smart and wise in your own ways, where you learned how to make decisions for yourself wisely because we taught you how, because we  _ showed _ you how.”

Steve lets out a soft chuckle as he looks at his daughter’s bright green eyes, which mirrors her mother’s, those that he had fallen in love with twice with both his girls. “I’ve always told your Mom about all these things that she is, and that everyday, I find more of her in you. The sheer determination, the wit, the passionate love you both have for everyone and everything. And I realized, part of it also included your Mom’s ability to be able to hold herself together and protect herself when she needs it the most,” he tells her softly. “It’s one of the many things I admire about her, and one of the things I’ve always prayed that you’ll get. And I think you’ve got it, even as early as now, you’ve definitely got it.”

Sarah smiles, and leans closer to rest her head on her father’s shoulder, as Steve rests his head against hers, pressing a kiss on her head, and pulling his daughter even closer to him. “And I just had a hard time admitting it, you know,” he continues softly. “The fact that you’re growing up, getting older and the very real possibility that...you know, you’ll be having another man in your life besides me and Jamie. And maybe he might hurt you, or break your heart, and I don’t want that, Sarah. I don’t want just  _ any _ man to be the reason for your heartbreak.” Steve says, and he chuckles softly, ducking his head sheepishly. “And I don’t mean to sound jealous, but your old man is  _ really _ getting old now, Sarah.”

Sarah laughs softly, lifting her head from her father’s shoulder as she faces Steve. “Dad,” she says softly, her smile widening. “You know whatever happens you and Jamie will always be the best men in my life, right? Which is why it really meant a lot for me to know what you think of what I’m about to decide, about what you think of David, who may be a good man, but will never be as good as  _ you, _ Dad.”

Steve feels his eyes water and Sarah giggles softly, as she smiles, tilting her head a little upward with that flare of confidence he always sees in Natasha, and now he also sees in their daughter. “And no man can break my heart, Dad, not as long as you and Jamie haven’t, and you  _ haven’t,”  _ she says, smiling widely. “And I don’t think you ever will, or Mom will be the first one to get both of you.”

Steve laughs softly, shaking his head as he leans and pulls Sarah closer so he can press a kiss on her forehead.  _ Her sweet little girl, now grown up. _ “She will, won’t she?” he asks, and Sarah chuckles and nods. “I will never. Your brother and I will  _ never _ break your heart.” he promises.

And Sarah smiles, that beautiful smile of hers that will always make Steve adore her little girl so much more. “Then I’ll be fine, Dad,” she tells him softly. “I promise I’ll be fine. And if I’m not, I know you will be there, so I’ve got nothing to be worried about.”

Steve smiles and nods. “That’s my girl.” he whispers, pressing a kiss on the side of her head as she rests her head again on Steve’s shoulder, sighing contentedly.

James gets out of his room and walks over to the couch, where he finds Sarah and Steve there. “Woah, Dad’s joining for Smash night?” he asks teasingly, and Steve chuckles, pressing a kiss on Sarah’s head as she lifts it and grins, and Steve stands up from the couch.

“Nah, I’ll just beat both of you,” Steve says, and James lets out a booing sound, and a chuckle as he flops down on the couch beside his sister, grabbing the controllers and tossing one to Sarah who gets it and reactivates it. “Came to say good night.”

“Night, Dad,” James calls, his eyes not leaving the television screen as he navigates through the menu. “Tell Mom I said good night too,  _ again.” _

Steve chuckles and nods, ruffling James’ hair as he walks to his and Natasha’s bedroom. Sarah looks behind the couch, where Steve stops in front of their bedroom, and she smiles when he looks behind. “Night, Dad. Tell Mom I said night too.” Sarah repeats softly, smiling at his father.

Steve smiles and nods. “See you both in the morning.” he says, opening the door to their bedroom and closing it behind him, smiling when he sees Natasha in her nightgown, reading a book on their bed. He smiles when she looks up and closes the book, and she sinks down further in their bed under their covers.

“Everything good?” she asks, and Steve sighs, walking over to his side of the bed and pulling his wife closer to him by her waist as he presses a long kiss on her lips.   


“Not really, no,” he admits softly. “Sarah’s not a baby anymore.” Natasha hums, and presses a kiss on his lips.

“And neither is James.” she responds, and Steve chuckles.

“D’you think we’re due for a retirement plan?” he asks, and Natasha laughs softly.

“Relax, Steve, we’re not  _ that _ old.” Steve chuckles, stretching his arm over Natasha to turn the lamp off, and sighing contentedly as he rests his head back on the pillow and hugging Natasha closer to his chest, pressing a kiss on her head as they both fall into their deep sleep, both being lulled by the familiar teasings and laughter of their children playing outside of their room.

Both Sarah and James may be fifteen and twenty, both of them have their lives ahead of them, both of them have an almost control of their lives now, but they will always be their babies. Natasha will always be James’ and Steve’s best girl, just as Steve will always be Sarah’s and Natasha’s best man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been updating for four consecutive days already because I might not be able to update in the next few days (so I'm trying to catch up, make up for the lost time lol uni is killing me guys) though I will try my best to post one on the 22nd in honor of Natasha's birthday (oop spoiler). Hope you guys stay tuned for that if I'd be able to update!
> 
> And I just realized there's LOTS of prompts you can get from this oneshot too. ;) Anyway, as usual, reviews, comments, prompts very much appreciated!


	27. Morning Is Breaking, All Is New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 27\. Natasha celebrates her best birthday ever.
> 
> ““Happy birthday, my love,” he says softly, pressing a kiss on Natasha’s lips, and Natasha smiles against his mouth. “I love you.””

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO i hope you guys are okay and fine! Here’s the update I promised last time! Hope you guys love it.

“Natasha.”

Natasha groans and scrunches her nose, further burying her face in the crook of Steve’s neck and she feels his chest rumbling against hers as he lets out a soft chuckle. She feels him press soft kisses on her hair and she hums contentedly, her lips quirking into a small smile as she feels his lips on her forehead and the side of her head, his arm running up and down her back gently.

“Wake up,” Steve whispers, pressing another kiss on the side of her head. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

_ Oh, he’s buttering me up. _ Natasha cracks an eye open, and she sees the clock on the table beside their bed read 6:00 in the morning as she feels him press more soft kisses on her head.  _ He’s buttering me up to wake up early in the morning. _ Natasha groans, shutting her eyes and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, further pulling herself close to him and she hears him laugh.

_ This ass. _

“Early,” Natasha mumbles, rubbing her nose against the side of his jawline. “Too early to wake up.”

“I see you’ve already woken up,” Steve says softly, and  _ almost _ too smugly that Natasha smacks him weakly on his chest and he laughs, sending vibrations on her chest that makes her smile against his neck despite herself. “Okay, Little Miss Stubborn, if you won’t get up I’m gonna carry you.”

“Why are you even waking me up?” she whines and Steve has to chuckle at the sound of her whining. “Training doesn’t start in three hours.”

“Oh, we are  _ not _ going training today, sweetheart,” he tells her. “It’s your birthday.”

“Exactly.  _ My _ birthday, we will do what I want.” she tells him.

“We will, and—”

“And what  _ I _ want, Mister Smarty Pants, is to get  _ more _ undisturbed sleep until it’s actually time to wake up.” she says as a finality, burying her face further in his neck.

“Alright then,” he says, and she lets out a sigh of relief. “We’ll do this the hard way.”

Natasha is about to ask him what he meant when, in one swift motion, he gets from the bed carrying her in his arms. She lets out a squeak in surprise at the lack of comforter, as she shivers because of the cold wind in their room. “Cold, cold, cold,” she says, reaching her arms to crawl back in the bed, but Steve laughs softly, leaning down swiftly to pick up the comforter, and enough to prevent Natasha from hopping from his arms and back to the bed. She looks up at him and frowns as he begins to walk out from their bedroom and into the elevator in their floor. “You tricked me.”

“You were getting stubborn.”

“You don’t get to say that,” Natasha tells him, sticking her lower lip out. “It’s  _ my _ birthday.”

“I promise to make it up to you,” he tells her, pressing the top button of the elevator just as Natasha drapes the comforter over her body and lets out a soft ‘hmp’. He grins and leans down to press a kiss on her forehead, and the tip of her nose. “I promise you it’ll be worth it.”

“Nothing’s worth it at 6 in the morning.” Natasha mumbles, closing her eyes again and burying her face in his chest.

“You’d be surprised, sweetheart,” he says softly, chuckling. “You’d be surprised.”

They reach the top floor, and Natasha shivers at the cold November breeze that greets them as Steve steps out of the elevator and into the Tower balcony. Natasha opens her eyes and sees the sky is a mixed color of dark blue with pink and light orange cotton candy clouds, and she can’t help but smile at how beautiful it is, how magical it looks like, as if they are not in Manhattan but somewhere else, a perfect world where everything is right and perfect.

And she looks up at Steve, and she smiles.  _ Everything is perfect. _

Steve looks back down at her and he smiles. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks softly, and she hums, looking back up at the sky. “Sunrise is nearing.”

Natasha sees a picnic mat with a bouquet of flowers on top and a basket as well, near the edge of the balcony and she can’t help but smile widely. “Has that been here the entire night?” she asks teasingly as Steve removes his slippers and sit on the picnic mat, and he chuckles.

“Not really,” he answers sheepishly, putting Natasha down as she wraps herself comfortably in the comforter, but Steve wraps an arm around her and pulls her close press a chaste kiss on her lips. “I might have snuck out some time before you cuddled up to me to set it up.”

Natasha hums softly, shaking her head as she leans up to press a kiss on Steve’s lips. Steve smiles and reaches for the bouquet of flowers, giving it to Natasha who takes it with a soft giggle. “Happy birthday, my love,” he says softly, pressing a kiss on Natasha’s lips, and Natasha smiles against his mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replies softly, kissing him again. She looks down at the beautiful bouquet of flowers and feels herself blushing as she looks back up at Steve and smiles. “This is perfect, Steve, thank you.”

Steve chuckles, pulling Natasha closer by her waist, and she drapes half of their comforter over Steve’s shoulders, as she cuddles up near him to his warm body, resting her head on his shoulder, both of them looking at the skyline with the beautiful sky, where the sun is set to rise in just a few more minutes. “It’s not over yet, Nat,” he says softly. “Just wait ‘till the sun rises,  _ then _ it’s gonna be perfect.” He looks down at her, and he smiles. “A perfect birthday for my perfect girl.”

Natasha laughs softly, burying her face in his neck in an attempt to hide her blush as Steve presses a kiss on top of her head. “Sap.” she mumbles, and he laughs. Natasha turns her head back to the skyline.

They stay silent for a couple of minutes, and their silence is comfortable, only being interrupted by birds flying by, and Steve’s occasional kisses on Natasha’s head and her contented hums. They watch the dark blue color of the sky turn lighter, the clouds slowly clearing away, and the pink hue slowly fading into a light orange, and the orange turning more vibrant and brighter.

“I’ve never watched the sunrise before,” Natasha admits softly, cuddling closer to Steve’s side as he presses another kiss on the top of her head. “I mean, not here in Manhattan, and I  _ might _ have watched the sunrise in the past but...I never really stopped to watch it like this. It was never a big deal for me.”

Steve hums and smiles, looking up at the sky. “I’ve always loved watching the sunrise, especially when I was a kid,” he starts softly, and Natasha looks up at him. “My Ma and I used to watch it all the time. She’d get surprised to find me at home already awake even at early hours of the day, just when she’s coming back home from nurse duty, and we’d watch the sunrise together from the top of our apartment building.” Steve smiles fondly at the memory. “Seeing the sunrise, it reminds me a lot of my Ma. It became harder when she died, and more so when I woke up in the ice seventy years after the war. Watching the sunrise hurt...and I never did since then.”

Natasha frowns slightly, but Steve smiles widely. “But I’d always remember what my Ma tells me about sunrises,” he says, and Steve remembers his mother’s soft and gentle voice in his head, as he says the words that had kept him going, day after day, sunrise after sunrise: “Sunrises mark new days, and new beginnings.”

Natasha smiles as Steve looks at down at Natasha. He chuckles softly as he looks back at the sky, and he starts seeing the first rays of the sun peeking.  _ A new beginning. _ Steve shifts his body so he is facing Natasha as she lifts her head and faces him too. He takes her hands in his, and Natasha looks at his eyes, blue, bright and vibrant and smiling just for her. It makes her heart flutter, the way he still looks at her even after almost three years of being together. It’s ridiculous, she thinks, but she also thinks that if this is  _ indeed _ love, which she thinks so, then she will gladly be ridiculous every single moment of her life.

“I’ve always been afraid of watching sunrises, scared of beginning anew everyday since I came out of the ice, because I thought there was nothing else left for me to live for,” Steve says softly, giving Natasha’s hands a light squeeze, and Natasha squeezes back. “And I’ve always been convinced about that, until one day, four years ago, when the surprise of my life came in the form of a huge helicarrier that I thought was just a huge ship on the sea.” Natasha laughs softly at that, and Steve smiles. “And in the form of a redheaded woman, so beautiful, so  _ deadly, _ dangerous, yet so passionate and loving, who greeted me when I landed there, and who had immediately captured my heart since the day I first laid my eyes on her. Who would have ever thought I managed to capture hers as well?”

Natasha’s eyes start to water slowly, as she smiles and Steve laughs softly. “She made me become less afraid of new beginnings, and made me believe that there  _ is _ good in every day. Because as each day passes, one sunrise after another, I still get to see her beautiful smile, hear her infectious laugh and have the pleasure to watch her do what she loves the most so beautifully and passionately,” he says softly. “And as more sunrises pass, I finally got the honor to hold her in my arms. And when the sun rises and I wake up, she is the first thing I see, and it’s the most beautiful beginning I can ever ask for, and I can ever want.”

Steve lets go of her hands as he reaches for the basket behind her, kneeling and sitting back down on his heels as he opens it, and he smiles widely when he takes out a small red velvet box. Natasha gasps lightly, one hand flying over her mouth as tears start to fall from her eyes.

“And I know it’s your birthday, Nat, and like you said, we will do whatever you want, and whatever you ask for,” Steve says softly, and he adjusts as he lifts his one knee so he is kneeling down on one, and Natasha laughs softly against her hand, putting it down to wipe the tears off her cheeks. Steve grins. “But I will only ask that you let me have this moment for once, and ask you for something, and it would be an honor if you would say yes.”

“Steve.” Natasha whispers, shifting so she is kneeling in front of him, as the comforter slides down her shoulders as she reaches for his face, and she presses a soft kiss on his lips, and Steve chuckles against her mouth.

“I haven’t asked yet,” Steve says, chuckling, but he still leans to press a chaste kiss on her lips. “You have to let me ask first.”

Natasha laughs, and she nods. “Okay, okay.” she says, smiling widely, and as she looks at the skyline, she sees the sun slowly rising, nearing its full form. Steve follows her line of sight and smiles, and she looks back at Natasha who is smiling so beautifully as she looks at the sun.

_ A new and beautiful beginning. _

“Nat,” Steve calls softly, and she looks back at him, her eyes still glistening with tears, but her smile wide and so beautiful. “I want to spend this new beginning, and millions of new beginnings in the future, with you, and  _ only  _ you. I want to wake up from one sunrise to the next with you in my arms, and sleep waiting for the next sunrise just holding you.” He smiles as he opens the velvet box, and Natasha smiles when she sees a beautiful oval-cut ring lined with diamonds and a double halo of round-cut diamonds in the middle.

“I love you, Natasha Romanoff, and I ask you  _ this, _ on your birthday, hoping you will spare me a favor even if it’s your day.” Natasha laughs, and Steve grins. “Will you marry me?”

Natasha looks back at the sky, and she sees that the sun is up,  _ fully up, _ signifying a new day, and a new beginning. She looks back at Steve, the man whom she loves and wants to spend the rest of her days with, and who is asking her to spend the rest of his life with her. He is smiling at her, so beautiful and hopeful, and bright and filled with overwhelming love that she feels her heart flutter, still, even after almost three years of being together.

_ A new beginning,  _ he says.

“Yes,” she answers softly, her voice soft and gentle, and only reserved for him. “Yes, Steve, I will marry you.”

Steve grins, and he leans in to press a kiss on her lips. “I love you,” he says softly against her mouth. “I love you so much. I love you.” He is laughing softly, and he is shaking as he takes the ring out of the box and takes her hand, slipping it in her left ring finger. She laughs softly as she inspects it, and she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him close as he wraps his arms around her waist and kissing her softly on the lips.

“Happy birthday,” Steve whispers, and Natasha hums against his mouth. “Happy birthday, my life, and my love.”

“Thank you,” Natasha whispers.  _ For everything, _ she means.  _ Thank you for the love, and for the perfect birthday. _ “I love you.”

The elevator to the rooftop opens, and Tony, Pepper, Sam, Bucky, Rhodey, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Wanda and Peter, barge in, all of them still in their pajamas, with Tony at the forefront holding a chocolate cake. “Happy birthday, lovebirds!” he exclaims, and everyone starts singing a happy birthday. Natasha laughs, burying her face in Steve’s neck as he laughs softly, singing along and pulling Natasha up to her feet as the team surrounds them, greeting a happy birthday for Natasha and congratulations to the new engaged couple.

“Make a wish, Nat!” Pepper says, grinning as Tony holds out the lit birthday cake out in front of her. Natasha looks up at Steve, who is still holding her close by her waist, and he smiles sweetly at her, and at the team surrounding them, all of them with wide smiles on their faces.

_ She got everything she wants. What more can she ask for? _

But she still blows the candle off, and everyone cheers, just as Steve leans down to press a kiss on Natasha’s lips, murmuring an “I love you” against her mouth before letting her go so they can thank and embrace the rest for their birthday greetings and congratulations.

_ Yeah, perfect birthday indeed. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 35th birthday to Scarlett! And happy hypothetical birthday to Natasha Romanoff. As usual, reviews, comments are appreciated and I hope you guys will still forgive me if I forget to update in a few days but I super promise to make it up to you guys soon! Thanks, everyone!


	28. Well, Home Is Home, You Know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 28\. Prompt: Natasha has pregnancy cravings, and even if they're in Wakanda, Steve has to work to look for the things Natasha craves for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, steveandnatlover, for your prompt (which was commented a LONG time ago, and it's lined up in my list of oneshots so here it is)! I really miss writing domestic just-Steve-and-Nat so this is really refreshing for me to reread and finally post. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> (Chapter title from Sam's line in Age of Ultron)

“Steve.”

Steve groans and slowly blinks his eyes open as he hears the whisper. He waits for a moment for it to come again.  _ Must be a dream. _ So he flutters his eyes close again, ready to fall into another blissful and restful sleep—

“Steve.” This time, with a poke on his back.

He furrows his eyebrows and groans as he turns, his eyes still closed, as he wraps an arm around his wife’s waist, pulling her close to him, but she just groans.

“Steve.” she whines, and Steve peppers her face with kisses, eliciting a fit of laughter from his wife and he chuckles and opens his eyes, and Natasha’s laughter slowly dies down as she lies facing Steve.

“What’s got my lovely wife all up at…” He turns to the side to their clock, and turns back at Natasha. “Half past two in the morning?”

Natasha smiles sweetly at her husband, and Steve is  _ almost _ sure of what she is about to ask of him. “I’m hungry.” she says.  _ Ah,  _ he thinks, almost smugly,  _ he got that right. _

“Couldn’t wait ‘till proper morning?” Steve asks, grumbling slightly, but Natasha pouts.

“Tell that to  _ your _ baby.” she says, pointing at her small baby bump. Steve chuckles.

“How is the baby only mine now?” he asks, pressing a kiss on her lips.

“‘Cause when it keeps me up in the wee hours of the morning with weird cravings, it’s being difficult, thus  _ your _ baby,” she says, and she smiles sweetly up at him. “Want some pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” Steve asks, chuckling, and Natasha nods. “I don’t think we have pancakes in the cupboard, sweetie.”

“But I’m sure the kitchen has,” Natasha says softly, pouting. “Please, Steve? For me and the baby?” She blinks and sticks out her lower lip and Steve sighs, kissing the pout on her mouth.

“Fine,” he says, sighing and Natasha grins, pressing a kiss on his mouth. “D’you want to watch some TV while I go down? I’m sure someone’s already awake downstairs.”

“Yes, please,” Natasha says. Steve gets up from the bed, pulling Natasha up and he stands up. Natasha walks over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he rests his hands on her waist. “Best husband ever.” she says, tiptoeing to press a soft kiss on his lips, and Steve hums.

“I do deserve that award.” he says, kissing Natasha back, as she giggles.

Natasha sits on the couch and turns their television on as he checks their cupboard on their floor. Nope, they didn’t have pancakes nor anything at all in their cupboard. It’s not like they  _ need _ to, not if they’re constantly being fed by the royal family of Wakanda in their own royal family kitchen. They have their usual bag of tea, some tea biscuits, but nothing else, and it’s also not something that Natasha wants.

Or the baby. Either way.

“Pancakes only?” Steve asks, and Natasha nods, looking over at him. “Alright, I’ll be back, okay?”   


“Okay.” Natasha says softly, and Steve opens the door and closes it behind him, going down the hallway and taking the elevator down to the palace ground floor where the kitchen is.

Steve sighs as he trudges his way towards the kitchen. “Captain?” someone asks, and Steve looks back to see Okoye in a black tank top and black leather pants and boots.

“Hey, Okoye,” Steve greets with a sigh. “Listen, I know this sounds weird—”

“Is Nat craving again?” Okoye asks, smirking, and Steve sighs.

“Yes, she is. For pancakes,” he says. “I was hoping there would be any sort of pancake mix in the kitchen, anything you might know that’s in the kitchen.”

Okoye laughs. “Lucky for you, I do,” she says, walking over towards the kitchen as she pushes the door and flips on the lights. “Follow me.”

And they do, luckily, have pancake mixes. Okoye navigates through the shelves and lines of cupboards and cabinets, and stops when she opens one of the cupboards. “Here we go,” she says, reaching up to grab two boxes of pancake mixes and gives it to Steve. “And it wouldn’t be complete without syrup, of course.” She walks over to another cabinet and grabs a bottle of honey. “Honey from Wakanda, and it is better than the American syrup, trust me.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, getting the syrup bottle from Okoye’s hand as the Dora Milaje general closes the cabinet. “Thank you, you’re a literal lifesaver.”

“I have been told so plenty of times,” Okoye says, smiling. “Lucky for you the Dora Milaje wakes early, else you would not have anybody here to help you.”

“Start of training?” he asks, and Okoye nods.

“We replace those in charge of the evening,” she explains. “Which are lesser, but nonetheless more dangerous when threatened. Our official shift starts at five in the morning, giving us two hours for our morning routine and training.” Steve nods.

“Then I must thank Nat for the perfect timing of her cravings,” Steve says, and Okoye chuckles. “Thanks again.”

“No problem,” Okoye says. “Oh, and maybe to add to your  _ groceries, _ as you Americans usually call it,” Steve chuckles at her term as she proceeds to walk into one of the refrigerators of the kitchen. “Here, take this.” Steve hugs the two boxes of pancakes and bottle of syrup in one arm, and takes a repacked container. He looks at it.

“What is this?” he asks.

“Tropical fruits from Wakanda,” she says. “Pineapples, bananas, mangoes and passion fruits to nurture both the mother and the baby.” She smiles. “I meant to give it to you yesterday, but we all got caught up in a mission.”

Steve chuckles and takes the container. “Don’t have to mention that again,” he says, and Okoye grins. “And thank you for this. I’ll make sure to give it to Nat.”

“And make sure to go back up quickly too,” Okoye tells him. “Have a nice morning, Captain.”

“You too, Okoye.”

He follows the general out of the kitchen, and Okoye nods her head at him as he enters the elevator and she proceeds into another hall. Steve walks to the hallway to their room, and turns the knob and finds Natasha still on the couch watching television. She looks up when he walks in and grins.

“D’you find pancakes?” she asks, and Steve sighs, nodding as he closes the door behind him with his foot.

“I did,” he says, smiling as he walks over to the kitchen. “Got some help from Okoye, because luckily for both of us, the Dora Milaje are awake at this hour. Ran into her, and she asked me to give you this too.” He points to the fruit container when Natasha walks up to him.

“Are there bananas there?” she asks, sitting on one of the chairs and smiling when she opens the container. “You know what matches with pancakes and bananas?”

“Wakanda honey?” Steve asks, knowing that this is going to be followed by  _ another _ request and hoping in vain that he can stop it by presenting with another option.

But Natasha shakes her head and scrunches her nose. “No,” she says, and she starts grinning widely. “Chocolate ice cream.”

Steve sighs, rubbing his eyes with his hands and running a hand through his hair, and Natasha’s smile fades as she deflates in her seat and fumbles her fingers. “I-I can go down there and look for it myself,” she says softly, standing up from her seat. “I know you’re tired and all from the mission, and—”

“No, Nat—”

“I know I shouldn’t have woken you up, and—”

“Nat, sweetheart,” Steve says, standing in front of Natasha, and he chuckles softly when he sees her eyes glistening with tears and she is pouting up at him. “Hey, don’t cry.” he says softly, tucking some of her hair behind her ear and brushing his thumb gently on her cheek.

“Not gonna cry,” Natasha says quietly, just as a tear slips off. Steve smiles at her. “Okay, hormones.”

Steve laughs softly and leans down to press a chaste kiss on his wife’s lips, wrapping one arm around her waist to pull her close. He moves his hand to rest on her baby bump, just as Natasha rests a hand over his. “This little one’s pretty hungry, hm?” Steve asks softly, and Natasha nods as she pulls away.

“We didn’t mean to.” she says in a small voice and Steve chuckles, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

“I know,” he says softly. “Tell you what. I’ll go look for your chocolate ice cream, and you make the pancake batter, hm? So when I get back here, I’ll just heat it. Sound good?”

Natasha nods, and Steve hums. “Don’t cry.” he says softly, brushing his thumb on her cheek where a tear fell earlier.

“Not gonna,” she says quietly, leaning up to press a kiss on Steve’s lips. “Unless you don’t get my ice cream, then I just might.”

Steve laughs and Natasha smiles up at him. “Why did I ever fall in love with you, hm?” he asks and Natasha giggles. “Alright, Mrs. Rogers, go start with the batter, and I’ll be right back.” He presses a kiss on the tip of her nose and lets Natasha go over to the counter, giggling as she grabs a box of pancake mix and grabbing one of their bowls.

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he opens the door again and closes behind him.  _ For the baby. _ He sighs, closing his eyes and throwing his head back.  _ For the baby and for Nat. _ It’s moments like these he misses the Tower, because if they did, he wouldn’t be walking around clueless on where to find these things Natasha is craving for, since he’ll find it instantly and would be readily available for anyone’s taking and consumption. But he supposes he has to improvise, make do with what he has for a different situation.

And besides, this was better than what he hoped for, so who was he to complain, honestly?

He walks over inside the elevator once it opens and presses to the ground floor. As the door closes, he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest, and leans his head back on the wall. He’s not even sure if there’s ice cream in the kitchen, let alone  _ chocolate _ ice cream, and he’s sure Okoye is starting to gather the rest of her troupe for training with the Dora Milaje by this time so there would be no saving grace for him once he gets to the kitchen. He doesn’t know if there’s any store in Wakanda at this hour that sells chocolate ice cream, either, but he supposes he can ask.

The elevator door opens, and he opens his eyes and furrows his eyebrows, because this isn’t the ground floor yet, but his eyes widen when he sees the queen, clad in her red and gold-embroidered nightgown and her hair tied to a high bun. “Your Majesty.” Steve greets, bowing slightly, and Queen Ramonda smiles and nods at Steve as she enters the elevator.

“Captain,” Ramonda greets, smiling, closing the elevator door. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I...well, you see,” Steve starts quietly. He contemplates of lying, really, contemplates of telling the Queen he just wanted a morning walk, or he’s gonna start his morning run, but he is clad in his pyjamas, still, and frankly, he needs help. So he takes a deep breath, preparing himself for what might be the most pathetic request he is about to give to a queen. Here goes nothing.  _ For Nat and for the baby. _ “I need to get some chocolate ice cream.”

Ramonda looks at Steve in amusement. “Chocolate ice cream?” she asks, and Steve nods. “That is very specific, Captain,” she comments, chuckling. “At three in the morning?”

“I…” Steve sighs. Here  _ really _ goes nothing. “Nat’s craving.” He pauses to gauge the queen’s reaction and she nods and smiles in understanding, so Steve proceeds to confess his early morning quest. “She was craving for pancakes initially, and then I got some pancake mixes from the kitchen because of Okoye, and she gave us bananas, and when Nat saw it, she immediately thought of chocolate ice cream to add with the pancakes and bananas.” Steve sighs. “It’s...it’s a lot, I know, I’m sorry.”

“No, do not be, it is alright. And it is also normal for pregnant women to have those kinds of odd cravings at odd hours,” Ramonda says gently. “But I am afraid we do not have chocolate ice cream in the kitchen palace.”

Steve sighs, and he runs his hand through his hair. “Well, is there anywhere in Wakanda I can find some? I’m willing to go out and find.” he says, and the elevator door opens. Ramonda smiles as she steps out, and Steve follows.

“It  _ is  _ three in the morning, and I doubt some stores are open in the nearby. Working hours usually start at seven in the morning,” Ramonda says. “However, I do know for a fact that Shuri has a stock of it in her own room. She loves chocolate ice cream, you see, so I know she has a whole stash in her own fridge.”

Ramonda presses the elevator door again, and she steps in. “Follow me, Captain,” she says. “So you will not need to go out and buy one at this hour.” She smiles. “People might find it odd, finding a white man knocking on the door and looking for chocolate ice cream.”

Steve chuckles and nods, stepping into the elevator just as Ramonda presses the button to the floor of the royal family. Steve looks at the queen. “Pardon me for asking, your Majesty, but why are you up so early yourself?” he asks, and Ramonda smiles as she looks at Steve.

“I make it a point to rise early so I can watch the Dora Milaje train,” she answers gently. “It relaxes me, watching these women train to defend Wakanda. It helps in making me feel that my country is safe, that my son who rules them is safe too.”

Steve nods understandingly. “Were you ever part of them too, before?” he asks, and Ramonda chuckles and shakes her head.

“Never part of it, but I’ve always wanted to,” she says. “I almost had the chance, before T’challa was born, because the queen can be part of it too. But then I found out I was pregnant with my son…” she trails off, but she smiles as she looks at Steve. “Still, I would not trade having a son for anything.”

Steve smiles and nods, because he knows. He knows how it feels. He doesn’t know yet the feeling of  _ having _ a baby, but the feeling and excitement of it coming, of it growing inside his wife’s body, it’s exhilarating, something akin to what the queen was describing as something he would never trade for anything the world can offer. He does not know yet if the baby will be a boy or a girl, whether he and Natasha will have a daughter or a son, but he just knows he would do anything to protect the baby and his wife, go to all lengths to give them what they need and want.

Starting, of course, with this chocolate ice cream.

The elevator door opens, and Steve follows Ramonda out into the hall, and they stop in front of the door to one room which Steve knows to be Shuri’s bedroom. “Stay right here, Captain. I will handle Shuri myself.” she says, and Steve nods, just as Ramonda scans her hand on the door, and she opens the door. Ramonda gives Steve one last smile before closing it, and Steve sighs as he leans on the wall in front of the room to wait.

He does not wait long, because five minutes later, the door opens and Ramonda walks out with a container in her hand. “Chocolate ice cream, stolen from Shuri,” Ramonda says, chuckling as she hands the container filled with ice cream to Steve. “I will just order one of the servants to buy her another one later. Do not worry, though, she is asleep. Shuri has always been a deep sleeper that way.”

Steve laughs softly and nods. “Thank you, your Majesty. This...really means a lot.” he says. And it’s pathetic to the ears, really, because it’s just chocolate ice cream, and pancakes and fruits, but he hopes that the way he said it, the queen would understand that this is not really just about the providence of food.

It’s also helping him keep his family happy and okay.

And Ramonda sees that, and understands that as she nods. “You are a good husband, Captain,” she tells him softly. “And I’m sure you will be a good father to your little one once he or she will get here.”

“I do hope so.” Steve says softly and sincerely, and Ramonda’s smile widens.

“I  _ know _ so,” she says. “Now go to your wife. I’m sure she is waiting for this.”

Steve chuckles and nods at the queen. “Thank you again, your Majesty.” he says, and he walks off to the elevator to press the button to their floor. Once it opens, he practically rushes to their floor, and opens the door, and sees Natasha already heating the batter of the pancakes.

“I couldn’t wait, sorry,” she says sheepishly and Steve chuckles as her eyes widen in delight at the chocolate ice cream container in his hands. “You found one.”

“I did,” Steve says, chuckling as he walks over to the kitchen, putting the ice cream on the table beside the fruit container. He embraces Natasha from behind, resting his hands on her belly as she hums when he kisses her cheek. “With the queen’s help this time. It’s from Shuri’s stash, she said.”

Natasha laughs softly. “Why am I not at all surprised that Shuri has a stash of ice cream of her own?” she asks, and Steve chuckles, taking the spatula from her hand and pressing a kiss on her temple.

“It’s a Shuri thing, I guess. Now go sit back on the couch. I’ll be bringing these over.” he says. Natasha chuckles and turns to kiss Steve on the lips before she walks off from the kitchen and back to the living room, just as Steve continues to flip the pancakes already being cooked on the pan.

He retrieves a plate and transfers three pancakes there, as he turns the stove off. He puts the bowl of batter and pan to the sink and retrieves utensils to put on the plate. “Sweetheart, d’you want the bananas and ice cream on the pancakes?” he asks.

“Yes, please.” Natasha responds from the living room. Steve chuckles as he transfers the plate to the dining table and puts on the bananas and a few scoops of ice cream on the pancake. He puts the container of fruits and ice cream back in the refrigerator and takes the plate into the living room.

Natasha is pretty happy with her food, of course, and Steve pats his lap so Natasha can rest her feet there, and he massages them as they watch. “I’m sorry I woke you up and made you look for lots of food.” Natasha says in a small voice. Steve looks at her and smiles.

“No need to apologize, sweetheart,” Steve says softly, and Natasha smiles. “You know I’m happy to do this for you, get everything you need and want for you and the baby.”

Natasha chuckles and nods as she takes another bite from her food. “I still forget sometimes where we are, that we don’t have everything like before,” she says softly, and Steve looks at her, and she gives him a sad smile. “I really miss the Tower, since we have everything in there all the time.”

As Steve looks at his wife, he thinks that Natasha’s not only referring to the fact that they live more conveniently and abundantly in the Tower, but also the people there, the feeling of being home with the rest of their friends whom they consider as a family, their  _ everything. _ They would be happy knowing that they’re together, much less that they are expecting a baby too. He knows she’s not only talking about how easy it would’ve been for Steve to grab whatever she craves for there, but also the fact that they have a more complete support system there, emotionally and mentally, with the people whom they care for and love, knowing they would also care for and love them, especially their baby.

Not to say Wakanda is not great, it’s the best they can hope for, really, and they’re nothing but grateful. But that doesn’t mean they miss home.

That doesn’t mean Steve still feels bad about taking home away from her.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you that back, not yet,” Steve says softly, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows as Steve ducks his head. “I’m sorry I can’t give you back our home.”  _ I’m sorry I took away our home from you. _

But Natasha shakes her head and puts the plate down on the side table. She reaches over to hold his hand resting on her shin. “Steve, you didn’t take away my home,” she says, smiling. “You are my home, you and our baby.” She lifts his hand to kiss it.

Steve frowns, and squeezes Natasha’s hand. “But you said...you said you missed the Tower.” he tells her, and she chuckles as she nods.

“I do, because we’re absolutely spoiled rotten there with the unlimited pancakes, fruits and ice cream I can ever crave for,” she says, reaching further to stroke his cheek lovingly, and Steve smiles slightly. “But if you wanna talk about home, Steve? I’m already home, because my home is with you,  _ wherever _ it will be.”

_ We already are home. _

Natasha smiles, pulling Steve closer so she can press a soft kiss on his lips, and he smiles, kissing her again. “We’ll make it work, okay?” she tells him softly. “We’ll make it work, you and me. We’ll make this family work.”

“I know,” Steve tells her softly, pulling her closer by the waist so he can press a kiss on her forehead. “I know we will.”

_ We’ll make it a better home together. _

It’s not like before, he knows. It’s also different, but as long as they’re together, and as long as they’re happy with each other and with their small family, he knows it will be alright. He knows they will forever be at home, wherever they will be, as long as they’re together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also check out my Modern Love series in my profile. I just uploaded a new one just a few hours ago, so I hope you take time to read it in case you're into more Romanogers AU fluff!
> 
> I'm super trying my best to stay consistent with the posting, but at some point, if I do fail to post during my usual days, I hope you guys will understand because I've been really tired and busy lately and while writing has been an outlet of stress for me, I just can't seem to find the time these days to write more. But don't worry, I take time to write down the prompts you give, and I'm doing my best to write an outline of ideas for each, so my works (and creative juices) won't stay dead for long. :)
> 
> As per usual, reviews, comments, prompts, and kudos very appreciated! Thank you everyone in advance!


	29. You Put Your Arms Around Me and I'm Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is loosely inspired by a friend of mine who's a mom to a little boy (just like Nat is to James), and she recounted me the story of how difficult it had been for her to care for her son when she became sick. I thought it was really cute so I decided to convert it into a fic featuring my favorite mom-and-son duo! Hope you guys enjoy!

Natasha stirs awake at the soft cries coming from the crib inside their room.

She groans as she rests her arm over her eyes, feeling the room spin around her and her own forehead warm against her arm. The heat burns in contrast with how cold she feels even as she is confined inside their room. She doesn’t even open her eyes, nor does she get up from their bed, but she is already feeling dizzy and extra sick.

She is really,  _ really _ sick it's almost humiliating.

The Black Widow _never_ gets sick.

But here she is anyway, _has_ been since yesterday morning when she woke up. She had been feeling unwell for the last week, and since she was packed with multiple whole-day missions and trainings for the past couple of days, she had no time to pay attention to it. Her immune system was designed to keep her well, so she powered through the sleeplessness and physical fatigue. She would come home, and even if she was tired from missions and trainings, she would take a quick shower and spend the rest of the day with her boys, most especially with James who would babble excitedly and nearly catapult himself out of Steve’s arms and into hers whenever he sees her.

“He missed his Mommy today.” Steve would say, as he would inch closer to give Natasha a full and proper kiss on the lips when she would take James in her arms.

“I missed my baby too,” Natasha would tell him, pressing another kiss on her husband’s lips. “Both of them, actually.”

She wouldn’t sleep much either, as after James would fall asleep, she and Steve would spend some time together, whether just cuddling or just talking or making love. She didn’t want to miss any moment with them, her family. It was bad enough for her that she was back to work and duty for S.H.I.E.L.D. after the maternity leave she filed (“extended” maternity leave, as Tony would point out to her and Steve, because instead of the usual twelve weeks, she got six months off duty), and it became  _ worse _ when trainings and missions as of late required more of her skill set rather than Steve’s, so he would be left at home with James while she worked.

She didn’t like it, of course, being away from her family, especially not since having James, but it’s the way life worked. So she made the best out of it by spending as much of her waking time as she could with her family.

Which kind of cost her in the end.

Her muscles and body ached more, and she had more frequent headaches. She thought it was just another one of her pregnancy symptoms, but when she went down to Helen to check, the result came out negative (Helen teased her about it, “Please don’t tell me you and Captain are trying again after you just had James.”, to which Natasha replied with, “I can’t help it if my own husband finds me too appealing and sexy.” with a smirk, and Steve had never blushed so furiously during the entire exchange.)

And eventually, that same late evening, Natasha was already shaking in Steve's arms, coughing violently against her pillow. She tried to muffle it, keep herself silent by coughing against a pillow, but Steve still stirred when he felt her shaking and coughing.

“Nat?” he called softly, his eyes blinking rapidly to wake himself, and she replied with yet another fit of wet cough. Steve pulled her close and adjusted himself to sit up. “Nat, are you okay?”

She didn’t reply, and instead resumed with her coughing fit, ending it with a sneeze. “Steve,” she called out softly, her voice rough and hoarse, her eyes fluttering as she furrowed her eyebrows. She whimpered when he pulled away slightly, severely missing the heat coming off her husband's body. “Steve, cold.”

Steve pulled himself out of their comforter and wrapped her in it, and rested the back of his hand on her forehead. “Nat, you’re burning up,” he said quietly. She replied with another sneeze that was followed by another coughing fit, and Steve winced. He got up, but Natasha was quick to grab his hand, and when he looked down, he found her eyes wide and teary, her bottom lip sticking out and her nose red. Her hair was disheveled from sleep. “Hey, I’ll be right back. I’ll go get you some medicine, okay?” He leaned down to press a kiss on her warm forehead, and her grip on his hand loosened as she fell back on their bed. “I’ll be back.”

And so Steve went to their bathroom, opened their bathroom cabinet and sighed. They really didn’t have the need for medicines for cough and colds, since the assumption was none of them in the family could be sick, but it was lucky they had a stock of it since Natasha insisted just in extreme cases. He took the medicine he knew to be the one for cough and colds, and grabbed the thermometer as well. Then he took a towel and wet it with cold water, and he proceeded back to their bedroom.

Natasha was wrapped in their comforter, but she was still shaking and breathing heavily through her mouth. Steve sat on the edge of their bed beside her, put the medicine and thermometer on the nightstand and folded the towel in thirds, resting it on her forehead. She flinched at the contact but Steve shushed softly. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s gonna help with the fever, alright?”

“Don’t have fever.” she said, relaxing once again on the bed as Steve brushed her hair softly, and hummed.

“We’ll see about that.” he said, taking the thermometer and putting it inside her ear. She frowned but let him dote over her, nonetheless.

The thermometer beeped and he frowned. “103.4.”

“Not bad.”

“ _ Really _ bad,” Steve corrected her, and she frowned, opening her eyes to look at him. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead she got into yet again another coughing fit that shook her entire body. Steve guided her to sit up, and he gently patted her back and ran his hand over it. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he could literally feel the warmth radiating off of her body. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” he shushed softly.

When she finished, she took a deep breath and groaned. “What hurts, sweetheart?” Steve asked, piling their pillows together behind her and gently pushing her back so her upper body was slightly elevated. He readjusted the towel on her forehead again and she whimpered quietly.

“Head, throat,” she admitted softly, and she took a shaky breath through her mouth. “Can’t breathe through the nose.”

“Okay, I’ll get some water, alright? And I need you to drink some meds.” he said softly, leaning to press a kiss on her lips, and Natasha scrunched her nose.

“Can’t kiss me, I’m sick.” she said, pouting, and Steve laughed softly, leaning in once again to kiss her on the lips.

“I can’t get sick, remember?” he asked, kissing her again on the lips, and she hummed, resting her head back on the pillow. Steve chuckled softly and stood up as she started muttering something about America’s golden boy having a golden immune system. He came back with a glass of water, and sat beside her on the edge of their bed again, opening the two medicine packets and giving it to her.

“Drink up, sweetheart.” Steve said softly, giving Natasha her medicine and the glass of water, which she drank. She took a deep breath as Steve put the glass of water on the nightstand and laid down beside her again, both of them sharing a pillow as Steve pulled her closer and she rested her head on his shoulder, resting a hand on his arm that was wrapped around her waist.

“Tomorrow, this will be gone.” Natasha said, and Steve hummed, pressing a kiss on the side of her head.

“I hope so.”

It wasn't gone. It was still there, and even  _ worse. _

She couldn’t get up from bed without ever feeling dizzy and feeling the room spin. She felt cold, even if Steve wrapped her in their comforter and he stayed beside her, she still felt cold. She was also unable to breathe properly through her nose, and kept on coughing so badly that Steve had to bring her some glasses of water to make it stop, or he'd have to hold her in fear that she might break her lungs in her coughing fit.

The worst of it all was that she couldn’t hold James.

And she understood it, she really did. Even as Helen and Bruce went up to their floor to check on her and give her medicine, she didn’t need to be told twice about something so completely obvious: that she had to limit her physical contact with her baby boy, for fear that he would catch her sickness. Because if a strong virus had managed to break through her enhanced immune system, what more can it do to a baby's immune system?

“I know we said that James has inherited both of your serums,” Bruce told her. “But he’s still a baby, and superbaby or not, the immune system of children is weaker than that of a normal adult,  _ or _ an enhanced adult. It’s better to be safe.”

And Natasha nodded, because she understood it. She couldn’t bear thinking of her son going through what she was going through, coughing endlessly, being unable to breathe through his small nose and feeling really cold. She was advised by both Helen and Bruce to rest in their bedroom, only ever getting in contact with James to nurse him or put him to sleep through a lullaby. She felt that she was lucky enough they permitted her to have these contacts with him, and she figured minimal contact with her baby was better than having no contact at all.

But James seemed to think otherwise.

He kept on calling for her, whimpering for her, his Mama, even when his Dada, Uncle Tony and Uncle Bucky would come over to help take care of him. He would cry when she would let him go after nursing him (because normally they would cuddle until James would either fall asleep or would want to play with his parents), which broke her heart and made  _ her _ cry herself because she also wanted to hold her son badly, but she couldn’t. When he would fall asleep for his usual naptime, Steve would stay with her and cuddle with her after complaining about not able to come in contact with their son, and consequently, her husband, who stayed to care for and play with their baby boy.

“You’re not alone,” Steve told her, pulling her by the waist closer to his body as he pressed a kiss on the side of her head, and on her lips. “I’m here.”

“You’re not James,” she complained, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she crumpled Steve’s shirt collar in her hand, pulling him closer. “You’re not my baby James.”

“But I’m as close to him as you can get for the meantime,” he said softly, and she pulled away and pouted, as he smiled, leaning in to kiss her pout. “‘Sides,  _ I  _ made him too.”

“Oh, I recall pretty fucking vividly, sweetheart.” Natasha huffed out a chuckle, laughing softly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

Steve mocked a gasp and pulled away slightly to look at her. “Language, Nat,” he said. “You kiss our son with that mouth?”

“Well, I can’t kiss him now, can I?” she asked, pouting and Steve laughed softly, kissing the top of her hair as he pulled her close to him, resting his head on hers.

“Touche.”

So that was yesterday, when she managed to survive one whole day with no cuddling allowed for their little James, and minimal contact with would only include nursing him and feeding him, and singing him a few lullabies to make him fall asleep.

Steve had left very early in the morning the following day for a half-day mission with Tony, Bucky and Rhodey, promising to come back as early as he could to care for his small family. He moved James and his crib inside their room so Natasha wouldn’t have to get out of the room to feed James. Steve told her that Pepper and Wanda promised to drop by as well to take over taking care of James. He gave Natasha a kiss on the lips, and Natasha groggily told him to be safe, before passing out again as he left.

An hour after, just before the break of dawn, she stirs awake to the cries.

She groans as she tries to sit up as she cradles her head in her hands, attempting to steady the room around her, as she focuses on the soft cries from her baby in his crib. She sighs as she slowly stands up, pulling the sleeves of her sweater down further her arms.

“Hey, little guy,” she coos softly in her rough voice as she approaches the crib. James’ cries soften upon seeing his mother, but he cries again as he extends his arms towards his mother. “You hungry, hm?”

But she sees the empty bottle of breast milk beside her son, and she doubts that her little boy is hungry, but it’s best to give it a try. She picks James up from the crib and steadies herself in her stance as she lifts her sweater, positioning James to suckle on her breast but he shakes his head, squirming and crying in his mother’s arms. “Not hungry?” she asks softly, putting her sweater down as she walks over to their bed, laying James there as she lay beside him, sighing in relief at the contact of her head on the pillow.

But her son beside her is still crying.

James is crying, and at the same time, rubbing his small fists against his eyes and head, meaning her baby boy is still very much sleepy. But why is he refusing to sleep? “What’s happening, little one?” she asks, inching herself closer to James—but not too close, as what Helen and Bruce advised her. “What’s got my baby all crying?”

She pats his leg gently, and hums one of his favorite lullabies, but he was still having none of it. His cries turned into whimpers, but his eyes were still wide and glistening with tears as he watched his mother, and he extended his arms towards her. She brushed his red hair carefully with her other hand as she continued to hum the best she can, despite her throat itching and burning with another fit of coughing coming up, but she held it down and pushed through.

James had stopped crying, but he still won’t sleep. He’s whimpering, alternating between rubbing his fists on his eyes and face and extending his arms over to his mother, and Natasha sighs almost helplessly. She is _tired,_ and very much sleepy, not to mention upset and nearly cranky because of the lack of physical contact she has with her son and all she wants is to fall asleep right then and there. But she couldn't leave James awake and whimpering, yet she also doesn't know why. Her lullabies aren’t working, nor will her pats and he isn’t hungry, but why won’t her baby boy sleep if he is very sleepy?

James extends his arms to her once again, and she can feel her heart clenching and chest constricting as she watches him reach for her.

_ That’s it. _ Natasha adjusts herself, elevating her upper half of the body as she picks up a whimpering James in her arms, and her baby looks up at her with his wide blue eyes, and for the first time since yesterday, she holds him and hugs him, cradling him in her arms as she presses his head on her chest, just on her heart where he can hear it beating, beating only for her baby boy.

And Natasha hums again, as she smiles down at James who has stopped whimpering, but starts cooing and gurgling, extending his hand to touch Natasha’s nose. He gurgles softly and lets out a yawn as Natasha pulls him close, humming the same lullaby she tried to hum earlier, and she feels his small hands rest on her chest. She watches fondly as her son’s eyes slowly flutter close and eventually he falls asleep.

Her chest swells and she feels like her heart is about to explode at any moment. “Oh my sweet boy,” she whispers, adjusting James so she can rest his head on her shoulder, his face tucking in the crook of her neck. His small arms automatically wrap around her neck as she shushes and pats his back gently, and he relaxes in her arms. “You missing Mommy’s cuddles? Is that why you won’t fall asleep?”

It’s hard being sick, of course. She still feels the room spin around her, most of the time breathing through the nose is practically impossible, and trying to stop a coughing fit is almost impossible too, but it’s way harder to be away from her loved ones. She is lucky enough that Steve was immune to sickness, but still, things become harder when she is forced to be away from her baby boy when she’s not supposed to.

And it seems like James feels the same way. She smiles as she listened to his soft snores, and as she cuddles him close to her. In the morning when Pepper and Wanda would come up, she would have to be pulled away from her baby boy, so for now, she was just going to cherish this moment, this alone she missed since yesterday, with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you guys I'm trying my best to accommodate all prompts being commented so I ask that you wait for yours to come alive. I wanna take my time in thinking about how I can make your prompts alive so for the meantime, I hope you're still enjoying these ones I originally thought of too. :)
> 
> And as per usual, reviews, comments, kudos super appreciated! I'm trying to expand my range to angst (read: TRYING) so angsty, dramatic prompts are welcome too if you have!


	30. From 2 to 3000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 30\. Prompt: Morgan and James as best friends.
> 
> "“Do you think he’d be proud of me even if I won’t follow his footsteps?” she asks, looking at James, her brown eyes wide and raw, as if whatever James will answer is the one thing that will mean the most to her, because to her, it might mean that whatever his response will be would be that of her father’s response too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO. I saw this prompt by natrgrs in previous chapters and I just had to write and publish it before the idea fades. So this chapter is gonna be ~really, slightly????~ different than the rest in a sense that it only features these two kids, and it barely has SteveNat content but they're pretty much mentioned plenty of times too. It's also kind of based on my previous work "State of Grace" (if you haven't read it, it's an Endgame fix-it fic) but it can also be read as a standalone if you've already watched Endgame.
> 
> So, yes, thank you for the prompt, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

They both sit by the edge of the foyer by the lake, James’ favorite spot in the Starks' cabin, while both of them are eating a fresh batch of baked cookies Pepper had made for them. James’ parents and baby brother are inside the cabin with Morgan’s mother, and while James and Morgan can easily run around the open space of the forest beside the cabin, they both refuse to do so.

Besides, they don't really want to play.

For James, it hits _too_ close to home. He thought he had lost his mother just a little more than two years ago, and they even held a funeral for her in _that_ area. He doesn’t want to remember the time when he thought his Mommy was gone, even when she had miraculously come back to life, and is living her life as his and little Joe’s mother. Every time he would look at the patch of grass, he can still recall his mother’s portrait was supported by an easel, and the way the seats were facing one another, and the long tables that held the plates of peanut butter sandwiches and juice boxes. And every time he would recall, he would still feel upset because he remembered the time when he lost a mother, when he thought she had left him without even saying goodbye.

So he doesn’t play. Not in the open space of forest.

And Morgan doesn’t want to, either, for much different reasons than James, of course. While both of them had the experience of losing a parent, hers was still different. James had lost his mother for roughly a week before she came back, but for Morgan, it had been two full years, and her father still hasn’t come back like how her Auntie Nat did.

And he probably never will.

When it happened, James has been by Morgan’s side through it all, since the moment the now-seven-year-old realized her Dad was never coming back, up until today, when, even though there are no more visible tears from her eyes like how it had been in the last two years, the emotional toll of losing a father is still present. She’d been less active, and she had been going less inside her small tent she used to play in with her father when he was still alive. Her mother had put it away when, since his funeral, Morgan just grew upset every time she would see it, but she had put it back when Morgan managed to convince Pepper that it was the only place she can remember her father by.

She didn't want the memory of her father to fade away.

“I saw his helmet again,” Morgan says in her small voice, while munching on the cookie. She swings her legs back and forth as she stares into the lake, and James looks at her. “Mom brought it out earlier today before you guys came, and I saw it again.”

“Your Mom brought it out?” James asks, and Morgan hums and nods, looking up at him.

“But she doesn’t cry anymore when she looks at it,” she continues softly, and James nods. “Remember I told you how she used to cry before? Now she doesn’t. But she still brings it out, and sometimes she still plays the video in the helmet, and she would watch him, and then she would cry. But today, she just cleaned it, so she didn't cry.” Morgan clasps her hands together and rests it on her lap as she looks back at the lake.

James looks at his friend intently, and he furrows his eyebrows slightly. “Did you?” he asks, and Morgan looks up at him, tilting her head in question. “When she brought it out to clean it, did  _ you _ cry?”

Because she used to. Like her mother, she used to cry whenever she would just _see_ the helmet, and if they'd watch it together, she wouldn't be able to sleep alone in her bed, so she would climb up to sleep beside her mother, who would hold her and soothe her until both of them would fall asleep just mourning and crying. Even just as she would come across the mask that he had made for her, while it’s still somewhere in her toy chest in her bedroom, she would still cry whenever she would come see it, and every time she would miss him more. She tells James all of this, of course, because he is her best friend, and even if it was just for a moment, he understood what it was like somehow—to lose a parent.

“Not really,” Morgan answers, and she looks away. “I just went back to my tent, that’s all.” She then smiles and looks up at James. “I wore the glove he gave, the one that matches his. It's always in the tent, so I wore it, and…and I felt him. Like he was watching, you know?”

James smiles and nods. “And you know that he is, right?” he asks softly. “He’s watching all of us, especially you guys.”

Morgan hums and smiles widely. “Yeah, yeah maybe,” she says softly, and James smiles. “Maybe there’s unlimited cheeseburgers where he is right now.” James lets out a chuckle.

“Why cheeseburgers?” he asks, and Morgan grins widely.

“It’s his favorite!” Morgan answers, grabbing another cookie from their batch. “Maybe it’s why I look for cheeseburgers when I’m hungry, ‘cause he always whispers to me,” Morgan lowers her voice in a whisper as she folds her free hand and puts it near her mouth. “‘Morgan, go get cheeseburgers!’, ‘Ask Mom to cook more cheeseburgers!’”

James laughs. “Maybe that’s why he’s watching you, ‘cause he’s looking out for how many cheeseburgers you might eat in a day.” he teases and Morgan laughs.

“Not my fault it tastes good,” she says. “‘Sides, Mom likes making it too, so nobody’s complaining here but you, Mister Spoilsport.”

“Miss Bossy Pants.” James replies, chuckling at their usual banter. They fall into a comfortable silence as they continue to munch their cookies, basking in the late morning sun reflecting on the still and stagnant lake in front of them, and the company of each other—their best friend and best companion since they had been very little. While they may have been slowly coming out of their running-around-and-playing phase, they were sure that they will never outgrow each other’s presence, especially now when the _only_ emotional support they have for the things they have gone through (and are going through) is each other.

“D’you ever think about being like them?” James asks softly, and Morgan looks up at him and blinks. “Being superheroes, you know? Maybe you building your new armor too, and fighting like how your Dad did? And how your Mom did too, at some point?”

Morgan blinks and she looks down. She’s thought of it plenty of times, of course, especially when she found out how her father died, and when her Uncle Rhodey had cleaned up and sorted out her Dad's stuff. She never had a full understanding of who Iron Man was, because when she had been born, he had already declared himself retired from the superhero life, and it was only recently did she learn that the stories about the Avengers her father used to tell her as her bedtime stories were _exactly_ true, and that her father had been someone important—a hero, apart from being a genius inventor-scientist. He had been a hero even before she was born. He had died as one too, and it was only after he had died that she had known and realized who he really was, and now she can never thank him anymore for being strong and selfless enough to dedicate the _many _years he had lived for the good of mankind, and for literally  _ giving _ his life in exchange for many.

It’s admirable in so many ways that it’s one of her favorite stories to hear, about the heroism of Tony Stark, an inventor who had turned into Iron Man, who became part of the Avengers alongside Captain America and Black Widow, and who, in the end, had died to save the universe.

But that was the point, wasn’t it?  He is _gone._ He is not here, not anymore, because in the process of saving many, he'd been unable to save himself.

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly, because she doesn’t. She doesn’t know what to feel about the whole superhero thing, mostly because it’s also a new concept she has yet to fully understand too—the consequences and implications it would come along with. She thought it might have been cool to have your parents as superheroes like James is with her Uncle Steve and Auntie Nat, but it’s not like that with her, is it? Not anymore.

Not when her father is not here anymore because of it.

“What about you?” she asks, and James tilts his head. “D’you wanna be like your parents when you grow up?”

“Like be a superhero too?” he asks, and she nods, but James just shrugs. “I don’t know either.”

Morgan frowns slightly. “I thought you’ve always wanted to be the next Captain America,” she says, and James looks down at his dangling feet. “You said, right? You’d get a shield someday and then you’d be like Captain America, like your Dad.”

“Yeah, but that was before Mom died,” James replies quietly, and Morgan pauses and sighs. James looks up at Morgan and smiles sadly as he faces her. “After Mom’s funeral, I asked Dad if he can stop being a superhero, you know? If he can maybe stop saving the world for once and just...not leave me alone like Mom did.”

Morgan frowns, but she nods understandingly, because she knows that. She knows how much it crushed James to lose his mother after saving so many, because like how he is with her now, she was like that with him when he first found out his Mom had died. She knows how it feels. “And when Mom came back, I asked her the same too, that she won’t be a superhero anymore, not when I just got her back. Well...they both said yes, and now here we are,” he continues, and he smiles at Morgan. “I just had a baby brother.”

“You did.” Morgan says, grinning as James chuckles.

“I don’t think I can do it too,” he says softly. “All the fighting and...and the leaving and the danger. I’ve watched my parents go back and forth from fights since I was a baby. I don’t think I’d want to do it...for myself.”

“Even when you’d help other people?” Morgan asks, and James gives her a small smile.

“My Mom used to say there’s lots of ways to help people than by being superheroes,” James says. “Maybe I could be a doctor someday.”

“You can save lives too.” Morgan agrees, nodding, and James nods.

“And there’s lesser chance of dying and danger too,” James chuckles weakly, and Morgan huffs out a small laugh. “Lesser chance of leaving your family too.” he adds softly.

And James figures it to be true. He hadn’t been the only one who had the experience of losing a parent because of being a superhero. In fact, he figured, what Morgan had gone through is worse than what he had, but the impact was the same for both of them, only the effects had been different. Even if James had his mother back, the sadness and trauma of losing a parent, albeit momentary, was still there and somehow fresh—fresher each time Morgan would bring it up and he would be forced to remember so his friend wouldn’t be alone in what she was feeling.

They both know that choosing to not follow the footsteps of their parents meant a lesser emotional toll for themselves and for their future families. It’s why they choose  _ not _ to be like them, at least for the meantime.

“Promise me something?” James asks, and Morgan faces her best friend completely, ready to listen for whatever he is about to say. “When we grow up to be like them, promise me we’d be with each other whatever happens.”

Morgan blinks. “I-I thought you wouldn’t  _ want _ to be like them?” And neither does she, but even as she says it, she feels the _urge,_ still, a tug somewhere in her heart that tells her that she might never know what would happen, she would never know the choices she’ll make in the future, the preferences she’ll have for a future life.

James nods. “I know. But  _ if _ the time comes, and I know it might, that there would be a call or something to ask us to be like them, promise me we’d stay side by side like partners,” he says, and he gives her a small smile. “Like how my Mom and Dad are, like how your Dad was with my Dad from the stories they had. So we won’t have to fight alone.”

_ So when the time comes, not one of them would be alone—like how Natasha wasn’t alone when she died, how Tony wasn’t alone when he died. _

Morgan nods slowly, and then she smiles. “If the time comes,” she says, and James nods and smiles, as Morgan smirks. “I'd be the boss in saving the world.”

James huffs out a loud laugh and Morgan grins mischievously. “You wish,” he says, and then he sighs. “Fine, you can be my sidekick.”

Morgan laughs loudly. “You just _wish,_ Rogers!” she exclaims, nudging his shoulder and James laughs. “I'm never gonna be your sidekick.”

James snorts. “Whatever you say, Spoilsport.” he says, smirking.

“Bossy Pants,” Morgan banters back, but she pauses, realizing what she just said, just as James smirks, and Morgan groans as James cheers and laughs victoriously.“Whatever, we'll figure it out.” Morgan smirks up at James, who laughs softly, nodding his head, as he looks back at the lake, and a comfortable silence falls over them.

Morgan looks down at her hands on her lap. “Do you think he knows about what he did? My Dad, I mean,” she asks softly. “That he saved the world and all that?”

“I think so, yeah.” James answers softly, nodding, and Morgan looks up again into the lake.

“Do you think he’s happy now, wherever he is?” she asks, and James pauses.

“I'm sure he is.”

“Do you think he’d be proud of me even if I won’t follow his footsteps?” she asks, looking at James, her brown eyes wide and raw, as if whatever James will answer is the one thing that will mean the most to her, because to her, it might mean that whatever his response will be would be that of her father’s response too.

James looks back at her, and he remembers the one thing his mother told him when he asked her the same type of question when she came back.  _ “Mommy, would you be okay if I won’t be a superhero like you and Daddy?” _ he asked. He was afraid of what his mother will say, afraid of the possible bouts of disappointment she will go through once the question was asked, because who wouldn't be disappointed? The son of Captain America and Black Widow not following their footsteps?

But he was both surprised and not when her response had been simple, soft and loving:  _ “I would be okay with whatever you want to be, sweetheart. But remember, your dreams won’t mean a thing unless you’ve reached out, and helped someone else along the way.” _ It was a surprise for him because she said it so simply and gently, as if the matter didn't really _matter,_ and she was genuinely fine with her baby boy not being willing to follow their footsteps in being a superhero in the future. But it was also not a surprise for him, because he’s confident of his mother’s love for him, and knew that whatever he chooses to do with his life, she will always be his number one fan, even if it meant not choosing the path that had already been laid out for him.

“I think he’d be proud of you even as early as now,” James replies softly, smiling at Morgan as she looks up at James and blinks. “Just ‘cause you’re his kid, and just ‘cause he loves you tons.”

Morgan smiles, and she looks away just as she feels tears gathering in her eyes as she takes in every word James had said, because she believes his words to be true, and because she  _ trusts _ his words to be the same words her father would tell her.  _ “I love you tons.” _ he would tell her every night, and she would smile up at him.

“I love him 3000.” she says softly, and James looks at her, an amused look on his face as he nudges her shoulder gently and she laughs softly, as she nudges him back.

“What? Is 2 not enough in ‘I love you _too_’ to your Dad?” he asks teasingly and Morgan rolls her eyes playfully at him.

“That's the corniest comeback I have ever heard from you.” Morgan comments, laughing as James snorts and chuckles.

But she thinks about it, and _n__o,_ 2 against 3000 is not enough nor can it be comparable to quantify the amount of how much she loves and misses her father. If it were honestly up to her, she would continue to love her father even beyond 3000, despite not wanting to be like him when she grows up, despite still hurting about his early departure, and despite him being left as a hologram in a helmet that would still have her crying even until this day.

Because even if Tony Stark had been many things in his life, he would always be one thing for Morgan: a good and loving father. And he will remain like that in her heart for the rest of her life.

_ It’s a thing, _ Morgan thinks, as she smirks. _ Nobody else but me and my Dad will understand. _ It’s something special, something James wouldn’t understand, of course, even if he was her best friend, and he was supposed to know and understand everything. But there are some things he can’t, she figures, and this is one of them, and it's fine.

“Jamie, Morgan!” The two kids look back at Steve’s voice calling them from the cabin, and they both look to where Steve is waving at them, a huge smile on his face as he calls the kids. “Time for lunch, guys, come on inside!”

“Race ya back to the cabin?” James asks teasingly and Morgan grumbles, fighting the smile forming on her mouth.

“If you let me win this time.” Morgan says, hopping back to her feet, just as James does the same. He grins mischievously at her as they fix the paper bag of cookies and James takes it in his hand.

“Never.” James says, as he runs, and Morgan runs after him.

“Unfair, Jamie!” Morgan exclaims, laughing as she runs a few feet behind him, and he looks back at her, laughing, both of them running toward Steve who catches James in one arm, and Morgan in the other once she got to catch up.

“Guess nobody’s winning in  _ this _ race.” Steve says, grinning, and both kids laugh as Steve brings them back inside the cabin, announcing the kids’ arrival to Pepper and Natasha who are both setting up the table, laughing when Steve brought in the two kids, and to little Joseph who immediately squeals in delight upon seeing his brother and Morgan.

“Take your seats, you guys,” Natasha says, smiling as she walks over to get Joseph, pressing a kiss on James' head and Morgan's too. Joseph babbles as he reaches for Morgan who grins up at the toddler in Natasha's arms. “Wanna sit beside Morgan, hm, little guy?” Natasha presses a kiss on Joseph's head as she inhales the scent of milk and vanilla from the baby.

“Yes, please, Auntie Nat.” Morgan says, smiling and Natasha chuckles softly, nodding. They proceed back to dining table, and Morgan smiles, because if there's one thing she can still hold on to in this life, even without her father, it's her extended family, the one with the rest of her Uncles, Aunts, and friends. That even without her father here, he can still somehow feel him through James, through her Uncle Steve and Auntie Nat, through little Joseph, and most especially through her mother, who had always been as strong as ever raising her to be good and loving, like how she knows her father would have wanted her to grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to check out my previous works, especially State of Grace (if you haven't!) and my new AU series called Modern Love! And don't forget to check this work regularly since I'm slowly getting back on my beat in posting and writing.
> 
> As usual, reviews, comments, prompts, kudos super appreciated!


	31. The Real Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 31\. The one where Steve got to know a portion of Natasha's past.
> 
> "“It’s not real,” Steve whispers, pulling her closer to his chest, and she buries her face in it again. “It’s not real, Nat.” “I know,” she whispers, sniffling. “But it felt like it. Like I was losing you too.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone's kind comments and prompts, and I hope you'll like this one too! Again, I'm working on creating the prompts you guys give (and as well as the ideas I have), but it's kind of taking me a long time to make them come to life since I'm also juggling the last stretch of my semester. Hope you guys will wait for 'em!
> 
> For the meantime, enjoy!

_ Do I trust this person? _

Trust is a feeble, fragile thing, something so delicate that she’s afraid to almost touch if it’s there. Trust is something Natasha never earned, growing up as a spy for the KGB, in the Red Room. She was taught never to trust anyone either, so it was only fair and square.

When she defected, however, she had learned trust to become a rather normal thing.

Clint had trusted her to stay in S.H.I.E.L.D., and when they became partners, he trusted her with his life. He would tell her that she can trust him with hers, but it didn’t come as easy as that, and Clint knew. He trusted her with his secret too, with his family: Laura, his wife, their two kids, and she became Auntie Nat. Laura trusted her with her husband’s life and secret, and the kids trusted her to not hurt them. She never did, of course, because she loved them. She would never betray them, never betrayed Clint’s trust.

When trust is given to her, she cherishes it, savors it. On occasion, she gives it back.

Trusting Clint had came off easily of course, because he is her best friend, the one person she can rely on aside from Nick and Maria, both of whom she doesn’t  _ fully _ trust just yet, because she knows neither of them still trusts her on the same level as how Clint does. The trust that comes off from the director and his deputy come in waves, and come in short terms, mission after mission, entrusting her with the virtue of not being killed, and for fulfilling her mission for them. But the other way around, with her? Not really, no.

_ If it was down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, will you trust me to do it? _

She asked him in one of the most vulnerable points in her life. She asked him during one of her moments where she questioned the life she tried her best to rebuild for herself, now because it had all been lies. She asked him during a time she felt lost and confused, overwhelmed by the need for her to start over.

_ I would now, and I’m always honest. _

The question was: does she trust him?

Natasha buries her face further in his chest, firm and warm as he holds her, and as she sniffles and evens her breaths. They came back from a mission, and now they’re back in the Tower, and she was yet again attacked by another nightmare. The nightmares post-Ultron had been worse, most of which involved the Red Room and her past, possibly triggered when Wanda decided to mess with her head before. The nightmares had been more frequent too, that at some nights, she found herself handcuffing her wrist to the headboard just so she can get rid of the nightmares by satisfying it, feeding it, so it can stop gnawing at the back of her head.

Steve found out, eventually, when he walked in her floor one morning and she was still asleep and handcuffed. He was mortified, naturally and understandably so.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know,” Natasha had said, when she allowed him to unlock the handcuffs using the key she hid in one of the drawers. “What happened in the Red Room were in my files, and in case you didn’t know, my files are public knowledge now, freely accessible on the internet.”

But Steve shook his head as he unlocked the handcuffs, gripping it and the key in his hand. “I didn’t read your file.” he told her quietly, and that took Natasha quite aback.

“Why not? Millions have probably read it by now.”

“Because when you’re ready to tell me, you will,” he answered softly, and then he shrugged, a smirk playing on his face. “Besides, it’s not like I know  _ how _ to access those files on the Internet. I’m still getting the hang of it, remember?” She snorted at his remark.

That same day, Steve made her promise to call him when she has nightmares. She hesitated, but if he noticed, he didn’t say. She just nodded, and they proceeded their day normally. Besides, she could handle nightmares alone. She always had, and this time would be no different. She couldn’t afford to trust anyone yet with the nightmares.

But the nightmare that gnawed at the back of her mind earlier that evening had been too intense, too close to her heart and close to her home, that it scared her. She fished for her drawers, and cursed out loud when she didn’t find the handcuffs there. She was crying, and tears were running down her eyes as she shook, her limbs trembling, her bottom lip quivering and her heart aching, constricting so bad it hurt.

And so she thought she needed help.

She padded her way out of her space, and into the hallway, her blanket wrapped around her as she opened Steve’s door. The super soldier was woken up by the light, but his figure loosened and his expression softened when Natasha stepped into the dim light with her face blotchy and red, and wet with tears. He patted at the spot beside him on his bed and she came crashing into his arms. He embraced her, shushed her and murmured soothing words to her as she cried and shook and sobbed.

Which is where she is right now.

“Tell me,” she hears him say softly. “Tell me so I can help.”

But she shakes her head. “There’s nothing you can do, Steve.” she tells him quietly.

“Try me.”

She pulls away slightly, shivering at the loss of contact, to look at him. His eyes are wide and open, his blue irises sparkling in the dim light, and his blonde hair mussed from his disturbed sleep. That’s how she arrives at the question yet again.

_ Do I trust him? _

With her nightmares, with the past she had that he had yet to uncover and learn about? With everything she had been aching to tell him about herself so he can understand?

She should say no, because naturally, it’s the most correct answer to that question. But something inside her is saying yes, a small voice inside her tells her yes. She can trust him. He is a friend, a  _ good _ friend at that.

And possibly even more so, which only makes it scarier.

“In the Red Room, where I was raised,” she starts quietly. “A lot of people trained me to be the best assassin there is, the best killer of my class, the Black Widow. They brainwashed me, wiped my memories out and replaced it with newer ones, fake ones,” She shakes her head. “That’s why it’s difficult trying to remember my...my past, because I’m not sure which ones are true, and which ones are implanted by the KGB. It was only soon I found that out, of course, but by then, all memories were wiped. Everything before the Red Room, it never happened to me.”

Steve listens attentively, unconsciously drawing soothing circles on her back that soothes her. She takes a deep breath and continues, “But in the Red Room, I remember everything. I was trained by someone, a man, a super soldier just like you, but it was...it was Hydra’s version of the super soldier.” She smiles sadly at him. “The man who trained me was James, Steve. James, the Winter Soldier, your Bucky.”

Steve pauses, and his lips part slightly in surprise. She expects him to say something, to even throw her out of his room, because how could she? They had fought him on the highway last year, and he shot her, and almost killed Steve, but she didn’t say anything? Steve lamented on how Bucky was his best friend whom he lost when he fell off a train, so how was she supposed to say that his best friend had survived and had become her teacher?

But he doesn’t say anything. He closes his mouth, but he nods, urging her to continue. So she does. “James was kind to me. He was...he was a very intense teacher, and he wanted me to be good, wanted me to be the best. He wanted me to  _ survive _ , which is probably why he trained me to be the best, because in the Red Room, you get killed if you’re not good enough.”

She swallows, and remembers the dump of the bodies of the girls she used to be friends with when she was younger. They were not friends, as the Red Room forbids the formation of relationships, friends or not, but it was the closest she can have to having one. “But James wanted me to live, and to survive. He did, because he...because he loved me, and I loved him.”

Steve’s breath hitches. It was one thing that Bucky had been Natasha’s teacher, but he was also her  _ lover  _ in a past life?

Natasha sighs nervously, biting her bottom lip. “Steve, say something. I know you want to.” she tells him.

He blinks, and shakes his head. “I...I just…” he trails off, as if trying to find the right words. “Did he remember you? When we were fighting, when we were in the Potomac, in Insight, did he know it was you?”

Natasha shakes her head and smiles sadly. “No, Steve,” she answers. “I don’t think he does.”

“Tell me.” Steve whispers, and Natasha swallows.

“You weren’t supposed to be in relationships when you’re under the KGB,” she continues quietly. “They taught us that love is for children, love is a waste of time.” She smiles sadly again as tears fill her eyes. “When I was with James, I did feel like a child, because I felt free. I remembered feeling free every time we spent time together, albeit clandestine. Every moment...my relationship with him wasn’t a waste of time, so I was sure to guarantee that love wasn’t a waste of time, at least not with him.”

She pauses and takes a shaky breath, and despite everything, Steve continues to draw the soothing circles on her back. “If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here. If it weren’t for him...I wouldn’t have survived, Steve. I knew I lived the best life when I was with him, the best I could’ve possibly had. He...he kept me sane, James kept me in my head and up on my feet.”

Natasha swallows and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “And we suffered because of it,” she continues. “We got caught. There was...one mission we were together overseas and we extended. James lied that it was something mission-related, but really it was because he said he wanted to treat me, so we went out. But we got caught.” She pauses, and she closes her eyes. “I was then promised to someone, and he wanted to run away. Run away so we can have a life together, you know. But since we got caught, we never had that. They caught us, dragged us back to Russia, and in my case, they tortured me, and brainwashed me over and over, until I can forget, but I never did. Of course, I couldn’t.”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t know initially what happened to him,” she says. “But when I went around the Red Room looking for him, I found him in a cryo.” Tears once again gathered in her eyes, and she wipes them in an instant. “They put him back, and I never got to see him again until after I graduated. The next time I saw him, it was in Odessa, the one I told you about, where he shot me, but he never recognized me.” She smiles sadly. “He was gone. My James...the James I knew was gone.”

“Nat…” Steve whispers, and Natasha shakes her head.

“Seeing him...seeing him in the cryo before, it destroyed me, Steve. I lost it,” she says softly. “That’s how I survived, and became the Black Widow, out of rage for what they did to me and James.” She sighs shakily. “And even as I dream about it, it still destroys me. Not...not James, not anymore. But  _ them _ taking away a good life, a normal life from me, and instead...instead turned me into a monster.”

She takes a deep breath. “And I dreamt that it wasn’t James who was in the cryo, but it was you,” she says it quietly. She bites her bottom lip as it quivers, and Steve’s eyes soften at her. “They’re trying to take you away from me too. And it felt real, Steve, it felt real.”

“It’s not real,” Steve whispers, pulling her closer to his chest, and she buries her face in it again. “It’s not real, Nat.”

“I know,” she whispers, sniffling. “But it felt like it. Like I was losing you too.”

“You’re not losing me,” he assures her softly, pressing a small kiss on her head. “You’re never losing me.”

And they stay like that for a few minutes: her in his arms in a comfortable silence. She feels her eyes drooping, and she could literally fall asleep right there and then. But she needs to say something before she allows herself to drift off.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” she whispers.  _ I’m sorry I couldn’t trust you enough with the truth. _

He strokes her hair gently. “It’s okay,” he replies softly. “It’s hard to say it if it still hurts.” She nods against his chest and she sniffles.

I’m sorry they did that to you,” he continues softly. “To you and...you and Bucky. They had no right to take away the life you wanted for yourselves.”

She nods again, and she sniffles, because she doesn’t know what else to say, or whether or not she should believe him when he tells her that. He seems to sense that, though, and he pulls away slightly as he looks at her. “Do you trust me in that?” he asks softly.

Natasha gulps, and takes a shaky breath. She sees the sincerity, the rawness in his question—a question of trust, because while he did tell her that he trusts her, she never did say it back. But now he’s asking her, and she needs to say it.

_ I trust you. _

“I do.” she whispers, nodding, and Steve nods, smoothing her hair gently with his hand.

“Then trust me when I say that you deserve a good life, a normal life—you and Bucky both. Whether together or not...you still deserve it, and it’s never too late to have it,” he tells her softly. “And that dream. It wasn’t real, Nat, it wasn’t.”

“Then what is, Steve?”

Steve smiles and takes her hand in his, placing it on top of his beating heart. Her hand is small in his, and his hand is rough and calloused against the back of hers. But his touch is soft and gentle, and he gives her hand a light squeeze. She closes her eyes and sighs as she feels his beating heart against his chest under her touch.

“This is,” he replies softly. He then lifts a hand to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek and brushing his thumb on the apple of her cheek. “This is real.  _ I’m _ real.”

She tries to imagine the heartbeat to belong to James,  _ her _ James, the one from her past, but she finds that she couldn’t. She couldn’t think of anything else, but Steve.

And the fact that this heartbeat belongs to one man—Steve Rogers, a man she trusts with her life, just as he does with her with his own. He’s the man who owns her heart now, and  _ maybe, _ when the time is right, she can also own his. He is real, as real as he had been in her nightmare, but realer now as he holds her in his arms.

Steve presses a kiss on the side of her head as he lays both of them back down on his bed. She rests her head on his chest, one arm draping over his torso, as his other arm is wrapped protectively around her waist. She allows her eyes to flutter close, clutching to Steve’s shirt, and allows herself to be lulled by the sound of his gentle and soothing heartbeat against his chest.

_ He is real, _ she thinks, and it’s the last one she thought of before she falls asleep, his heartbeat the last sound she heard before falling asleep peacefully.  _ And he is here. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is just around the corner, and you know what that means: Christmas fics! Hope you guys will stay tuned for 'em soon!
> 
> As usual, reviews, comments and kudos appreciated! Also check out my ongoing series, Modern Love!


	32. Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 32\. Prompt: Steve has to woo Natasha back like how he used to before.
> 
> "There were a few people, the workers included, and she furrows her eyebrows as she looks around. And she feels foolish that she even had to look around, because there Steve was, in the exact same pink shirt, sitting on the exact same booth, and as she walks closer to him, there’s also the exact same orders they had three years ago."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt requested a long time ago by steveandnatlover. Thank you for your wonderful prompts, and I hope you enjoy this one!

Wanda looks up from her book when she hears a knock on the door in her floor. She frowns and looks up at the clock. Who could be knocking at her door at nearly midnight on a boring Tuesday evening? Said person—whoever he or she was—knocks again, and so she stands from her couch, putting her book down on the table beside the couch, wears her slippers, and walks over to the door.

“Nat,” Wanda says, her eyes widening slightly in surprise, not really by her presence, but by how the older woman looked. “What happened? Are you alright?”

She’s wearing an oversized shirt, three sizes larger than her—probably Steve’s, and her hair is curlier than normal, and disheveled. Natasha looks up, and Wanda frowns when she sees streaks of mascara down her cheeks, the bottom of her eyes moist probably from tears.

Natasha has more tears gathering in her eyes, and Wanda steps forward to embrace her, as Natasha embraces the younger woman back, crying in the crook of her neck, as Wanda brushes her hair gently, shushing Natasha as she takes them back inside her floor. She lifts her free hand to close the door with her telekinesis, as they stop just in front of her door as Natasha only cries harder, embracing Wanda tighter.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Wanda comforts softly, rubbing Natasha’s back. “You’re okay, Nat. You’re okay.”

Was she? Wanda really doesn’t know, because whatever happened to Natasha, it must have been  _ that _ bad that she had to go to someone else for comfort instead of Steve. It’s not that she is undermining her relationship with the spy, but with how she understands the dynamics of love, marriage and relationships, if something  _ really _ bad happened to one of the people in a couple, he or she should turn to the other for comfort.

That is, unless…

“What happened, Nat?” Wanda asks, pulling away slightly as Natasha lifts her head, still sobbing silently. Wanda wipes her tears from her cheeks using her thumbs, as she brushes Natasha’s hair off of her face. The spy frowns, as silent tears only flow, and she whimpers, shaking her head. “Okay, I’ll get you some water, alright? And I have to clean up your face. You look like a mess.”

Natasha huffs out a chuckle, and Wanda smiles. She leads Natasha to her couch that she had been occupying earlier, and goes to her small dining area. She grabs a glass and pours water in it. She moves back to the living room, giving Natasha the glass of water, which she accepts, as Wanda proceeds to the bathroom, wetting a towel with warm water as she goes back to the living room.

Wanda doesn’t speak, even as she wipes the wet towel to clean Natasha’s face from the makeup that used to be there before the tears ruined it. Natasha sighs as she closes her eyes, allowing Wanda to gently clean off the eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara she had applied on it.

“You can read my mind, you know,” Natasha tells her quietly. “If you want. You can read it, if you wanna know what happened.”

Wanda frowns as she pulls the towel away, inspecting her face for any traces of makeup (or any injuries at all, but she was clean of it). “I don’t want to if you wouldn’t let me.” she answers quietly.

“I’m letting you.” Wanda quirks her lips and shakes her head.

“Is it really  _ that _ bad?” she asks, and Natasha shrugs as she looks up at the younger woman with wide green eyes that are red-rimmed and nearly swollen from probably a  _ long _ time of crying. Wanda shakes her head. “I don’t wanna interfere with your head, Nat.”

Natasha sighs as she closes her eyes and leans back on the couch. Wanda watches her patiently, and Natasha looks at her. “D’you know what date it is today?” she asks softly.

Wanda tilts her head in question. “May 18th,” she responds, and she perks up. “It’s your and Cap’s anniversary. You’ve been married for a year.” Wanda smiles, as Natasha sighs.

“How come  _ you _ remember but he doesn’t?” she asks quietly, and Wanda’s smile fades. “I woke up this morning, he’s gone, instead I found a note saying that he’s off in an emergency mission in Magadan. I call him, and I told him I made a reservation that evening for the two of us in a restaurant Pepper helped me book. He said he’d be back at seven, so he’d get there at eight. I  _ wait _ until half past ten in the restaurant, and when I come home, he’s just  _ there, _ nearly dozing off on our couch watching television. And he had the audacity to be all surprised to find me dressed and made up.” Natasha is practically shouting at this point, as Wanda’s eyes widen slowly. “And I thought,  _ hey, _ maybe he has a surprise for me, and you know what? He did. He  _ forgot _ our anniversary.”

“Oh my goodness.” Wanda can only respond, as Natasha buries her face in her hands.

“And then we got into this  _ whole _ argument the rest of the night when he was saying he was just really tired, and he just wanted a simple dinner, and  _ why _ couldn’t I just make him a simple dinner instead of having to go in a restaurant, and I just...I just ran off, and only  _ then _ did he remember our anniversary,” Natasha says, shaking her head. “I don’t know if he knows I’m here.”

Someone else knocks on her door, and both women look up, as Wanda sighs and padded towards the door. “Wanda?” They both hear Steve’s voice. “Wanda, are you there?”

Wanda sighs as Natasha shakes her head. She motions for Natasha to go to her bedroom, and when the spy does, Wanda opens the door, only to find Steve, whose hair is  _ also _ as disheveled, and whose eyes are red and swollen from crying as well. “Is Nat here?” he asks softly, and Wanda shifts her weight on her feet.

“No,” she lies, but God knows she’s a futile liar. Steve sighs, his eyes practically pleading Wanda to tell the truth, and the younger woman sighs. “Yes, she’s here. But she doesn’t wanna see you.”

“Please,” Steve says softly. “I-I need to talk to her, I need to see her.”

“No, Cap, I’m sorry,” Wanda says, shaking her head. “She’s very upset, and...and I think the last thing she needs tonight is to see you.” The words might have come off as offensive, as practically drawling over the line of personal and professional especially between her and Steve, but she figures he’d understand. Wanda sees Natasha as an older sister, and their relationship is considered somewhat sacred and special, different from that of her marriage with Steve, but definitely and practically as valuable as that.

“Wanda, please, I…” Steve sighs, and runs a hand on his face and through his hair. “I screwed up. I did something  _ really _ bad, and...and practically unforgivable, and I didn’t...I didn’t mean it, but I  _ need _ to see her, please. Please, let me talk to my wife.”

“Well, think of something other than that, and come back tomorrow morning,” Wanda says, resting her hands on her hips, as if scolding the super soldier.  _ You refer to her as your wife, when you forgot your own wedding anniversary? _ Steve may have gotten the telepathic message, because he only frowns and cowers a little. “Because it’s the last thing she wants to do, and making her uncomfortable is the last thing  _ you’ll _ ever want to do.”

Steve sighs, closing his eyes as he presses his palms against his eyes. “I just...can you at least tell I dropped by?” he asks, and he puts his hands down. “And can you  _ please, _ Wanda,  _ please _ tell her I love her. And I’m sorry. I’m  _ really _ sorry, and I’m gonna make it up to her.”

Wanda purses her lips together and sighs. She  _ hates _ being in the middle, absolutely  _ hates _ being in the middle of an argument, especially that of two people she very much looks up to because that would just mean she’s gonna have to pick a side, and she  _ hates _ doing that.

But for now, she chooses Natasha, because over the past few years, she had chosen her too. Also, she was the wronged one, after all.

“I’ll tell her,” Wanda says, and Steve sighs as he nods, and he turns back to start walking. “Cap?” Steve turns back, and Wanda sighs. “Just...whatever it is you plan to do, make sure...make sure she’ll be happy, okay?” Because she’d hate it more if he’ll do something she won’t be happy about, which Wanda would honestly doubt, but it’s still a possibility.

When Steve nods and turns, Wanda closes the door, and proceeds back to her bedroom, where she finds Natasha sitting on the edge of the bed. She looks up when Wanda enters, and the younger woman sighs. “You heard what he said, right?” she asks, and Natasha nods.

“Thanks for covering,” Natasha says softly, and Wanda nods. “I can...I can take the couch.”

“The bed’s big enough for both of us,” Wanda points out as she shakes her head. “It’ll be no problem.”

Natasha blinks and nods, and Wanda smiles as she walks over to the bed. “I’ll just finish off a chapter, but you can go sleep now if you want,” she tells Natasha, as she opens her lamp and turns the lights off. Natasha lays back down on one side of the bed, as Wanda helps adjust the covers. “Night, Nat.”

“Night,” she responds, as she lays her head on the pillow. “Wanda?” Wanda turns back before she closes the door. “Thank you.”

Wanda smiles, and closes the door behind her, as she proceeds back to the couch to resume her book.

* * *

When Wanda wakes up the following morning, Natasha’s side is empty. The sheets and pillows are neatly folded and stacked as well, and she finds a note beside her, with Natasha’s neat “thank you” written on it. Wanda smiles and stretches, before she gets up for her usual morning routine before training.

When she proceeds down to the communal room, she hears the voices of Tony, Clint, Rhodey, Bucky and Steve murmuring and laughing. When she appears, she  _ did _ indeed see the five men in the dining area, plus Sam and Pepper. They look up when Wanda enters in.

“There she is, Wanda,” Clint says, and Wanda raises her eyebrows as she takes her seat beside Bucky who smiles at her. “Why did Nat come to your floor last night?”

Everyone turns to look at her, and she looks at Steve who throws his head back in sheer exasperation. Wanda looks at the others, and shrugs. “Why don’t you ask her?” she asks, as she levitates over a mug filled with coffee and a piece of bread.

“We don’t know where she is,” Tony says, shrugging as he stuffs in a piece of bread in his mouth. “Loverboy-who-forgot-their-anniversary doesn’t either.” He points at Steve who narrows his eyes at Tony as he smirks.

“She must be in the training facility, or she’d probably be in the shooting area,” Wanda tells them, shrugging. “I’m sure she wouldn’t miss our training.” She nods over at Steve. “Have  _ you _ gone to look for her?”

Steve rolls his eyes at Wanda and sighs. “I have, and she  _ is _ in the shooting range, for your information, and as what I’ve been telling you the past hour,” he tells Tony who shrugs and smirks widely. “What do you think I’ve been doing all morning?”

“Moping.” Sam and Tony offer at the same time.

“Crying.” Bucky and Clint answer too, and they high five each other when they say it at the same time.

“Planning for a way to woo your wife back?” Pepper asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Punching bags and breaking ‘em.” Rhodey responds.

“I’ve been  _ looking, _ ” Steve corrects them, as he runs his hand through his hair. “And I found her in the shooting range, so,  _ yes, _ Wanda, she’ll be in training with you later.” He sighs. “And I  _ do _ have a plan, thanks for asking.”

“What is it?” Bucky asks, sipping from his mug of coffee. “I mean, are you guys gonna go outta town or something anytime soon to make up for forgetting?”

“You can use one of Tony’s private jets,” Pepper offers, and she looks sternly at Tony before he can say anything, effectively shutting him up. “If you do decide to go somewhere really nice to make up to her.”

Everyone looks back at Steve, who shakes his head. “We’re not going far,” he says, standing up from his seat. “And I’m not telling you guys the plan.”

But Wanda already knows the plan, because she can practically hear it screaming coming from Steve’s head, and she hides her smile in the rim of her mug.  _ This is going to work. _ Steve looks back at Wanda, who raises an eyebrow and smiles at Steve, as he sighs and nods, and he proceeds to the elevator.

He walks over to the shooting range, where he hears muffled gunshots as he passes by it. He looks through the glass where Natasha is standing in one place, swiftly changing the cartridges as it empties out. Despite himself, Steve feels a rush of nostalgia wash over him as he watches Natasha’s straight and concentrated expression as she shoots the target, all of the bullets being fired exactly at the target, or exactly  _ where _ she wants it to be. She has always been so precise even beyond the shooting range, so certain of everything she does, and everything she wants to do to the extent that she’s stubborn enough to push for the things she wants to happen.

It’s one of the many reasons why he fell in love with her in the place—because of her certainty, independence and agency.

Steve opens the door to the range, and he leans against the wall as he crosses his arms over his chest, watching as Natasha finishes up a cartridge. And even as she is wearing her shooting earmuffs, she lowers her gun and removes the earmuffs.

“Here to sneak up on me, Rogers?” she asks, without turning around. To which, despite himself and the circumstances, he smirks at the nostalgia of it all.

_ He leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, watching as Natasha finishes up a loaded cartridge, watching as she shoots the remaining dummies square on the head forming holes in them. He figures Tony would have to replace these targets soon, or she will have to throw a fit before he does. He watches as her shoulders tense and she freezes to where she is. She removes her earmuffs slowly, and turns her head ever so slightly, and even from where he is, he can see her signature smirk slowly forming on her face. _

_ “Gotta work on your stealth next time,” she says, as a form of greeting. “If you’re here to sneak up on me.” _

“I wasn’t planning on sneaking,” he tells her, and Natasha turns her head to look at her husband, as Steve purses his lips. “Breakfast is ready.”

Natasha blinks, pausing from where she is, and if Steve didn’t know his wife better, he’d like to say she was also experiencing the same kind of nostalgia, the same kind of surge of memories he’s experiencing at this  _ exact _ setting, with the exact same words and almost exact same purpose.

_ “I wasn’t planning on sneaking,” he tells her, and Natasha smiles as she turns, putting the gun back on the shelf. “But I’m here to tell you breakfast is ready.” _

_ “Something I like, I hope?” she asks, raising an eyebrow as she smirks, walking towards him as she nods. “Come on now, food might get cold.” He chuckles and follows her back to the communal room. _

But she seems to have gotten what he’s trying to do, what he’s trying to recreate, so she shakes her head, turning back on the range. “Not hungry.” she murmurs, putting her earmuffs back on, and reloading the cartridge. Steve sighs, and he ducks his head as he hears Natasha shooting once again, but he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t leave, not can recreate what was in his mind, but because he is her husband, and he doesn’t want to leave without knowing that she ate, or has done the necessary measures to  _ at least _ take care of herself.

And Natasha seems to notice this, as she lets out an exasperated sigh, and lowers her gun once again. “I already ate, Steve,” she says, and Steve looks up to find Natasha looking back at him. “I’m fine.”

Steve looks at Natasha, but she doesn’t break contact with him. They stay like that for a few moments, until Steve eventually nods and relents with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. “I’ll see you in training?” he asks quietly, and she lets out a hum of acknowledgment, resuming back to position as she starts shooting. When Steve leaves, Natasha lowers her gun, closing her eyes as she takes a deep breath, as she looks back to where her husband was.

Despite herself, she smirks, remembering an almost  _ exact _ same exchange in this place three years ago.

* * *

Even as it’s against her will, she grumbles as she walks up to the elevator and presses to their floor. No, she has  _ no _ idea where her husband is, or what he’s doing, and since she’s still mad and hurt about the previous evening, she couldn’t find it in herself to care yet. So as long as he’s not getting himself killed or in any trouble at all, she wouldn’t have the need to find him anyway.

When the elevator opens to their floor, he’s not there.

She furrows her eyebrows.  _ Where the hell is Steve? _ She’d passed by the training rooms and facilities earlier, and she saw his usual training group being trained by Bucky instead, so she figured he must have been back to their floor.  _ Ready to butter me up to apologize, or something, _ she thinks, but as she walks in to an empty living room, and an awfully silent floor, she sighs.  _ He’s not here. _

But then she spots a small yellow square on their television screen, and she narrows her eyes. She walks over to it, as she picks up the yellow sticky note, and she has to bite her bottom lip to prevent herself from smiling when she sees the  _ exact _ same doodle she has of herself from three years ago. (She still has it in her own memory box, which is really just a box of the small gifts Steve had given her over the years they’ve grown from friends to lovers—small doodles, wilted flower petals, love poems and drawings included.)

_ Her arms are crossed over her chest, her head leaning back on the wall, as she waits for the elevator to open once it reaches her floor. When it does, she straightens herself, and walks out of the elevator, stopping when she sees a small yellow square stuck on her front door. She narrows her eyes, and walks cautiously over at her front door, only to find that it’s a sticky note, on it a doodle of what she assumed to be her (if the red wavy hair, black suit, her signature hourglass sigil and guns didn’t give it away), and beside it a small note: _

_ “Hope you’ll be as happy and healthy as this Natasha is!” There’s no signed name anywhere on the sticky note, but she can’t help but feel a giddy smile form on her face as she thinks of Steve doodling her on a small sticky note and writing this cheesy and childish note beside it. She laughs and shakes her head, taking the sticky note and entering her floor. _

The doodle on the sticky note is exactly the same as she remembers it to be, from the red hair to the red hourglass, to the guns and black suit, but the only difference is the message that is written beside it.

“Hope you know how much your husband loves you, and he hopes you’ll be as happy and healthy as this Natasha is!” There’s no signed name either, but she can’t help but feel a flutter inside her chest as she reads it over and over again. She sighs, putting the sticky note close to her heart as she closes her eyes.

_ Cheesy ass of a husband. _

But she loves it too, so who was she to complain, really?

Natasha opens her eyes and smirks. She kind of knows where this is going, but she doesn’t know what’s next. She knows this as part of Steve’s play, so she’ll just continue to ride along. She walks over inside their bedroom, pulling out her memory box (really just a shoebox, but whatever) and tucking the new note inside of it. She runs her hands over the stack of papers, all of them either drawings of her or poems for her, made by Steve. She wonders what’s gonna be next, and when and where this is going to end.

She kinda hopes it doesn’t, but by then, she figures, it will be up to her whether it  _ will _ end or not.

* * *

Wanda has to stop herself from smiling as she knocks on the door. She takes a step back, and finds Natasha, her hair damp, and changed into a casual light blue shirt and denim shorts. Wanda offers her a smile as Natasha raises her eyebrows in question at the younger woman, rubbing her hair with a white towel.

“Just wanna check how you are,” Wanda tells her softly. “Has Steve talked to you yet?”

Natasha sighs as she shakes her head. “I mean, he tried to this morning, but...I didn’t want to,” she responds and shrugs. “Didn’t feel like doing so either.”

Wanda frowns slightly. “Well, have you seen him?” she asks, and Natasha shakes her head.

“Haven’t since this morning,” she responds, and narrows her eyes at the younger woman. “Why? Has something happened?” Wanda shakes her head.

“No, no, nothing I’ve heard of. I just thought you guys talked and sorted things out or something,” she says, shrugging. Wanda regards Natasha’s damp hair, and she smiles. “Can I do your hair today?” she asks.

Natasha blinks, putting the towel down from her hair, but she eventually nods. “Yeah, sure.” she replies, stepping aside to let Wanda in, and the younger woman grins as she lets herself in, with Natasha following closely behind her, as Wanda sits on the couch, and Natasha sits on the floor by Wanda’s feet. She grabs the remote to turn the television on, just as Wanda prepares her hair tie.

But she frowns slightly when she sees what’s on the television, just as she feels Wanda’s fingers running through her hair. She is, once again, taken back to  _ one _ significant event three years ago, one that even as she remembers it now, she feels her heart fluttering inside her chest. She figures if Wanda has any part in this, this nostalgia she’d been having since this morning, but as she feels Wanda’s fingers running smoothly in her scalp to comb her hair, she eventually relaxes, and allows herself to let the wave of memory crash through her.

_ She opens the television, and smiles when she sees Notting Hill is on cable. She allows herself to relax as she listens to Wanda hum as she volunteered to braid her hair that is still damp from the shower, allowing herself to relax under the younger woman’s touch as she starts picking up strands of her hair to braid it into a crown braid, as Wanda calls it. She’s experimenting, she said, and she figures Natasha would be the perfect woman with the perfect hair to practice her braids since she’s the only woman on the team whose hair is willing to be touched. _

_ The movie is now in the portion of where Anna is apologizing to Will, back in the bookshop in Notting Hill, where they first met. Natasha sits back as she watches, especially as how Will tries his best to explain to Anna that they were simply not meant to be, as they were too opposite in their lives, in terms of their occupations and locations. And she watches as Anna goes on with the classic love declaration everyone who has ever watched Notting Hill would remember: “I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.” _

Natasha furrows her eyebrows, as she watches the  _ exact _ same scene that she had three years ago just as Wanda starts braiding her hair. Her eyes trail down to her light blue shirt that she’s currently wearing.

_ Natasha looks down at the light blue shirt she’s wearing, and how it’s almost the same shade of light blue Anna had been wearing in the scene. She was never someone to hope, much less wish of a scene just as heartfelt and romantic as that of the one in Notting Hill, but for a split second, she allows herself to hope. She allows herself to wish that the man she liked, the man she would think she loved, would be the Will to her Anna, the handsome man in pink who would also eventually declare his love for her. _

_ Even if it felt impossible, even if it felt dangerous and a shot in the dark, she hoped she can find the same kind of love they had. _

“You okay?” Natasha snaps from her own thoughts when she hears Wanda’s voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I just…” she trails off and shakes her head as slightly as she can without ruining Wanda’s work on her hair. “Been having some...weird thoughts the whole day.”

“Weird thoughts?” Wanda repeats, and Natasha swears she can hear the smirk lacing through the younger woman’s voice. Natasha chuckles.

“It’s silly, I know,” she says softly. “Just...weird thoughts.”

Wanda hums and smiles as she finishes the same crown braid she remembers working through Natasha’s hair three years ago. She remembers the same scene, of course, as she also  _ practically _ saw it in Natasha’s mind as she reminisced. Wanda could swear the light blue shirt and Notting Hill on cable had been coincidental (on her part, at least), but her visit to their floor, and her crown braid sure isn’t.

But the call coming in Natasha’s phone, that’s another coincidence she had no business either.

Natasha stands from the floor and walks over to the table where her phone is ringing, and she sighs when she looks at the screen. She looks at Wanda, who tilts her head at her in question, as Natasha slides her finger on the screen, putting the phone on her ear. “Hello?”

Wanda leans back on the couch as she smiles, watching as Natasha furrow her eyebrows once again. She doesn’t need to look through her mind to know that she’s having the same kind of flashbacks again as she had from three years ago. She also doesn’t need to listen closely to know that it was Steve who was calling her, probably telling her about the next gimmick she had read from Steve’s mind this morning.

“Can you believe this man?” Natasha asks, putting the phone down on the table. “He forgets our anniversary, doesn’t show up the  _ whole _ day, and now he wants  _ me _ to walk over to Black Tap and meet him there.” She rests her hands on her hips. “He doesn’t even  _ meet _ me here or pick me up or something, he just tells me to go there  _ by _ myself!”

Wanda smirks, and looks up at Natasha. “But you’re going, aren’t you?” she asks, and Natasha sighs.

“Wanda, I…” Natasha sighs and shakes her head. “I mean I am, but I’m just...I don’t know. I’m still...I’m still mad, alright? And he’s not...he’s  _ barely _ doing anything to make it up, and…” She lets out a huff in frustration. “I’m no high maintenance wife, alright? But...Black Tap? On the first wedding anniversary on top of the fact that he forgot about it? You have  _ got _ to be kidding me.”

Wanda laughs softly and shakes her head. “I think you should just go without question, maybe it’s not  _ just _ Black Tap.” she says, winking. “Go on, Nat, or do I have to levitate you for three blocks just to get you out of here?”

Natasha groans, but she grabs her phone and her coat, not even bothering to bring anything more, much less to change her shorts into leggings, and she proceeds to the elevator and down to the ground floor. She walks past the agents and guards, and starts walking to Black Tap, feeling ridiculous herself as she imagines what she must look like: a woman with light blue shirt, denim shorts, sandals in a beige coat with nothing but her cell phone and what’s left of her dignity. She didn’t even have the time to put on even a little bit of makeup in both her haste and anticipation mixed with a little bit of frustration.

This game is taking  _ way _ too long, and she is at a loss for what to expect next.

When she gets into Black Tap, she pauses when she finds it practically empty on a Wednesday almost late afternoon. There were a few people, the workers included, and she furrows her eyebrows as she looks around. And she feels foolish that she even  _ had _ to look around, because there Steve was, in the  _ exact _ same pink shirt, sitting on the  _ exact _ same booth, and as she walks closer to him, there’s also the  _ exact _ same orders they had three years ago.

Three years ago, during their first date.

_ Natasha walks in Black Tap, after receiving a message from Steve asking her to meet him there. She rushed in, believing it was an emergency, just after Wanda had done braiding her hair, and when she saw Steve in his pink shirt and jeans, his hair neat and combed back properly, she feels ridiculous for appearing only in a light blue shirt, black shorts, sandals and a beige leather jacket, bringing nothing with her but her phone. _

Natasha stops in front of Steve, beside their booth, and she sighs. “You called me here.” she tells him, and Steve lets out a small smirk.

_ Natasha stops in front of him and huffs out an exasperated sigh when she sees Steve sitting on the booth, his hands clasped together as he regards her almost amusingly. She wants to wipe the smug smile on that pretty face of his. _

_ “You texted me to meet you here.” _

“I did,” Steve says. In both occasions, it’s what he says, and it makes him smile as he remembers it. “Come on, take a seat.”

_ Natasha sits across him as she catches her breath and sighs, shaking her head. Steve asks her what her order is, and she furrows her eyebrows as she looks at the menu Steve slides over to her. She regards the options, and though she’s been here plenty of times, she figures she might have wanted something new, something she’d never tried before. _

_ “Brooklyn Blackout.” _

Natasha leans her elbows over to the edge of the table, one hand sliding through the glass of Brooklyn Blackout in front of her, while Steve is sipping on his glass of Cakeshake. She narrows her eyes at her husband, as he looks at her almost too innocently, like how he  _ exactly _ did when they got their orders three years ago, and are sitting in an almost awkward moment of silence.

“What are we doing here?”

_ “What did you want me here for?” _

Steve smiles, as he straightens his body and clasps his hands together. “Taking my wife out on a date.”

_ “Taking my best friend out on a date.” _

Despite herself, and despite the situation she is in, she can’t stop the smile forming on her face, the slow quirk of the corner of her mouth upward, as she takes a sip from her milkshake, an eyebrow raised at her husband. “What does that supposed to mean?”

_ “What does that mean?” _

Steve smiles wider, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “It means,” he says softly. “That I’m taking my wife out on a date…”

_ “It means that I’m taking my best friend, my best partner out on a date…” _

“Because I love her, and because I was stupid…”

_ “Because I really like her, to the point that I find it stupid…” _

“I’m trying to make it up to her by hoping she can say that she loves me back again.”

_ “So here I am, acting on it anyway, in the hopes of maybe she would like me back too.” _

Natasha scoffs and rolls her eyes, but she couldn’t deny the warm feeling on her cheeks, and she  _ knows _ she’s blushing, of course, if not for the triumphant smile evident on her husband’s face.

And she tells him the exact same thing she did, in response to his declaration of love:  _ “Too cheesy for my liking.” _

Steve chuckles, and he sighs as he ducks his head, and Natasha watches him closely. “Nat, I’m really sorry,” he tells her softly. “I didn’t mean to forget.  _ You _ know I didn’t mean to forget. It’s the last thing I said I’d ever want to happen.”

Natasha sighs as she looks away, but she nods. “I know,” she responds softly, and she shakes her head. “But you did, Steve. You did, the whole day, you made me  _ wait _ for one whole evening and even then, you forgot about it and just left me there.” She shakes her head, as she feels tears slowly gathering in her eyes. “Even if it wasn’t a special day, you shouldn’t have left me there.”

Steve’s bottom lip wobbles, and he nods. “I know, and I’m sorry, and I _promise,_ Nat, I'll make it up. I'll make it up to you,” he tells her quietly. “I just...I was really tired, and I was thinking that I just wanted to spend the rest of the evening with my wife in my arms until we fall asleep.” He sighs. “And I did forget, I  _ forgot _ the date in New York, because we came from a time zone with a sixteen-hour difference, sweetheart. When I came back, I practically thought two days have gone by, and I thought our anniversary would be the following day, still.” Steve lets out a sheepish smile. “I got a little disoriented here and there.”

Natasha lets out a huff of a chuckle as she shakes her head. “You old man.” she says, and Steve chuckles lightly.

“I really am, huh?” he asks, and Natasha lets out a small smile. He extends his arms, his palms opening upwards as he looks at her, his blue eyes wide and imploring. She sighs as she takes his hands, and he squeezes her hands, his thumbs brushing the back of her hands gently and soothingly.

_ He extends his hands out to her, resting them on the table, as he looks up at her, his blue eyes wide and imploring. She sighs as she takes his hands, and he lets out a small smile as she squeezes her hands gently, his thumbs gently brushing the back of her hands. _

_ “Natasha Romanoff…” _

“Natasha Romanoff-Rogers…”

_ “Will you do me the honor of still being my date for this day and for...an infinite more number of days?” _

“Will you please forgive your husband for being stupid, and forgetful...and old,” Natasha laughs softly at that, and Steve smiles. “And will you do me the honor of  _ still _ being my wife for this year, and for an infinite more number of years?”

Natasha feels the wave of nostalgia hit her once again, as all the pieces finally come together: him waiting for her in the shooting range three years ago had been the start of their long breakfasts, lunches and dinners together to the point that they would sometimes miss trainings because they were “too busy gazing at each other’s eyes” in Tony’s words. Him leaving sticky notes for her on her front door, the communal television, her personal guns on the shooting range three years ago started what would be the many  _ more _ small gifts he would give her, may it be short, cheesy poems, doodles and drawings he would make just for her.

Him asking her to be his date “for an infinite more number of days” three years ago led them to where they are now: in love, married and sharing a life together. It led them to their own version of Notting Hill like how Natasha had allowed herself to hope for herself when she saw it three years ago, just before she received the text from Steve asking her to meet him in Black Tap, and just before discovering that she had been wearing the same shade of light blue Anna was wearing, and Steve had been wearing the same pink shirt Will was wearing in the scene she had been watching.

Just like how they are now.

All of these firsts, that Steve had tried so hard to recreate led them to where they are now: their first year of marriage, signifying  _ plenty _ more years ahead of them. Just like how the first time he waited for her led to plenty of meals together, how the first time he gave her a doodle led to plenty of other small creations for her, and how their one simple date led to plenty of others.

So Natasha smiles, like how she did three years ago, as she gazes into the eyes of the man she loves, the man she calls her husband, the “Will to her Anna”, as she had put it three years ago not knowing it would immediately lead her to where she is now.

Wanda was right. This is better than how she expected it to be, heartfelt, authentically true like her husband has always been.

And she responds the same response she told him too, three years ago, that started everything: “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you didn't get confused with the italics and plain letters like the one in the last part! Also, as per usual, comments, reviews, kudos muuuuch appreciated!


	33. Just Like You (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 33\. James expresses his want to become like his father, but Steve has his own apprehensions on it.
> 
> "They save lives, which is how they become superheroes. Whether it involves carrying a shield and using it or not, or carrying Widow bites and using it or not, at the end of every mission, they do good by saving lives. And James wants to be exactly like that—save lives no matter what happens."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually can't remember whether this one's a prompt or not, but I sure did see this on my document so maybe it's a semblance of a certain prompt? Anyway, prompt or not, hope you guys will enjoy!

Steve sighs and looks at the sides of the gym, and James immediately looks back at the book he had been reading, or at least  _ trying _ to read. Steve lets out a small smile as he announces to the trainees to have a two-minute break, and they scramble off. He puts his shield down and walks over to his nine-year-old son, as James looks up and smiles at his father.

“You alright here? Not getting bored?” he asks, sitting beside James and ruffling his already-mussed red hair. The boy chuckles, and Steve smiles. “You know, Mom’s training sessions are more interesting than mine. You sure you don’t wanna go up there?”

James shakes his head. “I wanna stay here,” he says. “Will you use your shield soon?”

“Yeah, maybe in a while during one of the sparring sessions,” Steve answers, and he lets out a small smile. “You here for that, hm? Wanna see me use my shield?”

James grins. “‘S what I’m here for, Dad.” he answers, and Steve chuckles.

“Not to support your old man?” he asks teasingly, and James laughs. “You don’t wanna see Mom use her new batons and Widow bites? She’s been pretty excited about those too.”

“Yeah, but Sarah’s already there, and you don’t have an audience,” he says, and Steve smiles. “‘Sides, Mom knows I wanna be here too.”

“Does she?” Steve asks, and James nods, smiling. “Well, she never told me that.”

James just grins and Steve lets out a huff of breath and straightens his body. “Well, we better continue. You sure you don’t wanna go to Mom’s?” James shakes his head. “Alright. Just keep reading, buddy.” Steve ruffles his son’s hair as the nine-year-old chuckles, and Steve stands, clapping his hands to grab the attention of the trainees to gather back around him.

But James doesn’t read, because it’s not exactly why he came down here for. For the past few days of summer break, he’s been wanting to watch his father train combat with the new trainees. Sure he’d spent a good amount of time watching his mother do some weapons training, but he finds this one more interesting—relatable, in a sense, because in some way, somehow, he can see himself doing that. He can see himself in his father, with the shield, with the built, with the right mindset of heroism.

He already  _ has _ the serum, after all, and he has the advantage of inheriting both his mother’s and father’s serums, so he must be  _ really _ strong and physically capable to become like Captain America, right?

James’ face lights up as he closes his book when he sees his father pick up his shield again. Steve sees this, and he gives his son a smile before turning back to his trainees. He continues to talk as he straps his shield on his arm, and the trainees move back.

The door to the gym opens, and Sam walks in. James perks up, and Sam grins at the boy before Steve sees him. “Perfect timing,” he says, smirking at his friend who walks up to stand beside him in front of the new trainees. “Sam’s here to demonstrate what the next sparring will be. One of you will be blocking, the other will be on offense. The challenge for both of you will be to hit the other without a block.” He tightens his strap and smirks at Sam. “I’ll be using my shield, for the meantime, because I happened to steal one of Sam’s donuts yesterday and he swore to take revenge on me.”

The trainees laugh, and Sam chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, Captain America, you overestimate my abilities.” he says, moving to stand in front of Steve as he stretches and readies in his stance.

Steve prepares to defend himself, putting his shield in front of him. “Ready?” he asks, and Sam nods.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And they begin fighting. James watches in awe at how swift and strong Sam’s punches and kicks are, but he’s more amazed at how quick Steve can block off his charges. He sees it as more of a dance, because of how almost in-sync they are, and the fact that they don’t take breaks (unlike the trainees James had watched in sparring sessions). He’d seen sparrings akin to dances, and his personal favorite would, of course, be his parents’ sparring sessions, but their sessions never usually consisted with Steve’s shield. This one amazes him, though, because Steve  _ does _ use his shield as an advantage every time Steve would become off guard with Sam’s swift kicks and blows.

James wonders if this is how they fight in the field too, in real life against the bad guys and villains.

“Gimme one landed kick, Cap,” Sam chuckles, but he still resumes his offenses against Steve, as James watches his father chuckle, not missing a beat on his defense. “Or they wouldn’t be able to start their sparring.”

“I can do this whole day, Sam.” he says, smirking, and Sam huffs a chuckle, catching Steve off-guard and landing a kick on his side that he barely blocks. Steve lets out a grunt, as James lets out a light gasp in case his father got hurt, but Steve just chuckles and straightens himself just as Sam straightens his stance, a smug smile on his face.

“A piece of advice, you guys,  _ never _ say you can do it all day,” Sam teases, and Steve chuckles. “‘Cause chances are, you  _ wouldn’t _ be able to do last long enough.”

The trainees let out a round of applause, and James does too. “And that’s for taking my donut too!” Sam exclaims, and everyone laughs as Steve nods.

“I do deserve that,” Steve says, chuckling. He then turns to the trainees. “Alright, everyone, each pair will be given no time limit, but do take note of your respective timers, and gauge how long it took before you guys succeed in the blocks and offenses. Come on, pair up with your usual partners.” He claps his hands as the trainees scramble in different areas inside the gym. Steve turns and walks towards James, unstrapping his shield from his arm and resting it against the bench James is sitting in.

“Look out for this for me, hm?” he asks, leaning down to press a kiss on James’ forehead, as the boy hums and nods. “Won’t take long then training’s over, and we’ll go up, okay?”

James nods, and Steve smiles and straightens himself. “Dad?” he asks, and Steve turns back to look at his son. He wants to ask if he can play with the shield, maybe just try to carry it, though he had tried before, and it had been heavy, but he wanted to try again. Steve looks at his shield and he gives his son a smile.

“Maybe after training, buddy, I promise,” Steve says, and James grins widely. “Won’t be long, okay?”

The sparring session starts, and Steve and Sam walk around, observing and inspecting the trainees’ stances, blocks and forms. Sometimes, they would pause in front of a pair and observe more, and James would hear them either coach or encourage them more, and sometimes they would praise some trainees for good form in offense and blocks. But while James wants to watch and observe more, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of the shield beside him.

He wonders how it would feel like if he has one of his own.

It’s not an uncommon thought, of course. He had  _ thought _ that he might want to be like his father someday, a superhero saving lives and fighting off other people who do bad things to good people. He had already told this to his friends and classmates in school too, when they had discussed what they wanted to be when they grew up. His other friends and classmates wanted to be doctors, engineers, lawyers and actors, but not him.

“I want to be like Captain America,” he told them proudly. “Or a superhero. Anything like my Mom or Dad.”

Everyone knew of his parents, of course, so it’s not like they reacted all surprised at his dream, especially his teachers who, of all people, knew that James Rogers is the son of two of the world’s most renowned superheroes who had special abilities caused by the serum he inherited from them.

He’d been teased about it, of course, because as much as there are people who would look at him amazed because of his dream and heritage, there would still be some kids who would tease him, sometimes bully him and incite him to fight with them.

“You’re not really Captain America’s kid,” they would tell him. “You just happened to have Black Widow’s hair but that doesn’t mean you’re  _ their _ kid.”

As if they couldn’t read the papers and Internet articles with their paparazzi photos in it.

James wouldn’t budge them, as his mother told him to just ignore bullies like them, and his father told him that sometimes ignoring them would be enough. There was, however, one big boy, one of the big bullies in their elementary school, who attempted to throw a punch at him one lunch break, but James had blocked it off easily, and the boy was surprised at how swift and strong he had been.

“I already told you to stop,” he told the boy as James firmly held the boy’s fist just in front of his face. The boy attempted to budge, getting increasingly nervous when he couldn’t as James only held his fist tighter, as he frowned. “I’m not gonna fight you.”

Consequently, Steve and Natasha had been called in because kids had reported this incident. James had been the wronged one, of course, and when the two Avengers came in still in their stealth suits (in their rush, because the principal reported that James had been  _ bullied, _ so who in their right mind wouldn’t rush to their son’s rescue?), the bullies who had been called in had their eyes wide, especially when Natasha scooped in James in her arms and embraced him, as Steve proceeded to talk to the principal, his face stern and frowning.

James had registered the shouting and scolding of the bullies’ parents when they came in, and found out they had practically bullied the son of two Avengers. He smiled smugly, cuddling himself closer in his mother’s arms.

Once home, Natasha pressed a kiss on James’ forehead and smiled at him. “It’s a good thing you didn’t fight back to those bullies,” she said. “Or they’ll lose pretty fast against you, little man.” She winked, and James giggled.

“They were teasing me when I said I wanted to be a superhero,” he said, and he had been oblivious, of course, to the way his parents stiffened at his story. “They said I couldn’t be one, so they told me to fight ‘em, but I didn’t want to.”

“That’s good, buddy,” Steve told him, smiling at his son. “And you shouldn’t, okay? We’re  _ good _ people, and we don’t fight unless we think they’re bad and hurting people.”

_ “But _ we also don’t fight kids, because kids still learn, hm?” Natasha added. “When somebody tells you bad things in school, sweetie, just remember what Mommy and Daddy say, okay?” She smiled at her son. “D’you remember what we tell you and Sarah all the time?”

James nodded. “We’re always the bigger person, and we always choose to understand, and we don’t fight.” he recited, and his parents chuckled at him.

“Close enough, buddy.” Steve said, planting a kiss on his hair, and James smiled.

He knows his parents fight for a living, always knew of it since he was probably a baby. But over time, he had learned that they don’t  _ just _ fight. They only fight when it’s the only option left, but it’s also not what they do for a living. They save lives, which is why how they become superheroes. Whether it involves carrying a shield and using it or not, or carrying Widow bites and using it or not, at the end of every mission, they do good by saving lives.

And James wants to be  _ exactly _ like that—save lives no matter what happens.

James is knocked off from his train of thought when he hears his father speak, announcing the end of the sparring sessions. He and Sam wrap up the training together, and discuss the following day’s agenda, until Steve eventually dismisses the trainees who all scramble towards their duffle and training bags, greeting Steve and Sam a goodbye before waving at James, who waves back, as he watches them file out of the gym.

Sam follows the other trainees on their way out too. “Catch you later, you guys!” he says, waving at both Steve and James. James waves and smiles at his uncle, as Steve walks over to his son and smiles.

James starts bouncing in his seat. “Can I try the shield on, Daddy?” he asks excitedly, and Steve chuckles, picking his shield up.

“Let’s try it,” he says, and James cheers. “Stand on the bench, little guy.”

James does as he’s told, and he holds out his arm. Steve unstraps the shield off of his arm, and he looks at James who is grinning widely at him, carefully strapping the shield on his little boy’s arm. “Careful, alright? It’s a bit heavy.” Steve reminds him, and James nods, because he knows. He tried to carry it hundreds of times, so he’s time he’s ready to take the weight of it.

Steve takes a step back, just as James is able to carry the shield almost with ease, but then the boy grimaces a little, and Steve chuckles, putting his hand at the bottom of his shield to lift it slightly so James can regain his balance. James smiles at his father and nods, and Steve takes a step back again.

His heart swells with pride, but he also feels fear looming over his head.

“Does it look good on me, Dad?” James asks, and Steve chuckles, nodding.

“Very,” Steve says, smiling. “Not that heavy, hm?”

“Just right,” James answers, and he puts one hand on his hip, as he holds his shield over in front of him. He grins at his father. “Do I look like Captain America now?”

_ Eerily so, _ Steve thinks both proudly yet anxiously too. It doesn’t really help that his son looks like him, but has his mother’s hair. He  _ can _ imagine passing the shield off to his son when he’s old enough someday and Steve would be retiring from the Avengers life. He can see it, even as early as now, how his son has both the physical capabilities to do what he does, and the heart to pursue to become a good superhero, possibly even better than him and Natasha combined.

He’s proud of it, but he’s also  _ scared _ of the prospect of it.

Steve smiles, and chuckles softly. “Time’s up for the shield, little guy,” he says, walking over and unstrapping the shield off of James’ arm. James grins and looks at his father. “It’s still a little too big for you, you know.”

“I’ll grow,” James tells his father, smiling. “Maybe I should ask Uncle Tony to make me a smaller shield like yours!”

Steve chuckles. “You really want one, hm?” he asks, and James nods.

“I wanna be like you, Dad, even with the shield,” he says, smiling, as he sits back down on the bench. “I wanna be like you and Mom, a superhero.”

_ No, anything but, please. _

“You do, huh?” Steve says weakly, and he sighs as he sits beside his son. James looks up at his father as Steve rests the shield back against the bench beside him. “You wanna be like those trainees someday too? The ones you just watched?”

James nods. “I think I can do it, Dad. And it trains me to become a good superhero,” he says. “But maybe when I get older, and maybe I can fight with you and Mom too.”

_ No, _ Steve sighs.  _ Please no. _

They’ve talked about this—him and Natasha, about their son’s desire to be like them. Natasha was extremely hesitant, to the point that she was keen on straight on saying no if it wouldn’t disappoint their son. Steve was also in the same boat as Natasha, because of course he knew firsthand what it meant to become a superhero. It meant risking your life every time there’s a mission, it meant pressuring yourself to come home, whether scathed or not, because your loved ones are waiting for you, and it meant having to sometimes sacrifice days and weeks of rest and spending time with your family just so you can catch  _ one _ psychopath who’s keen on destroying the entire world. It’s not the ideal life, despite the recognition you get, the praises and attention you attract, because they’re nothing compared to when you end up heavily injured in a hospital, the looks on the faces of your loved ones when they saw you almost die, and  _ worse, _ all the glory and luxury will  _ never _ be a match to your life when you die.

He’s experienced it firsthand, been both the superhero and the loved one, and he doesn’t like it.

_ “I’m not saying our life is the worst kind of life to live, Steve,” _ Natasha told him quietly that same evening when it was just the two of them talking about their son’s dreams.  _ “But even you’d admit we thought it wasn’t the most ideal life to live especially when we had James. I don’t want this kind of life for my son, Steve, I don’t.” _

Because it’s not like they don’t believe in him, it’s just that they can’t risk him being like them.

“Why’d you wanna be a superhero someday, buddy?” Steve asks softly, and James smiles widely.

“‘Cause I wanna save lives like you and Mom do,” he tells his father. “It’s not really because of the fighting, ‘cause I know how that hurts.” He frowns slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. “I’ve seen you and Mom get hurt before, and I know it’s part of it, but it happens when you protect other people, so it wouldn’t be so bad.” He looks up again at his father and smiles. “I wanna be good like you guys.”

“You’re already good enough as you are,” Steve tells his son gently. “You don’t need to be a superhero to  _ be _ good. You’re already good. You’re a good friend to your classmates, a good brother to Sarah, a good son to me and your Mom…”

“I mean I wanna be  _ good _ in saving people like you, Dad,” he corrects Steve, and he faces his father. “I’ve seen how you make other people smile and other people be happy because of the saving. I wanna do that too.” James smiles at his father. “D’you know in my school, my friends still have lunch boxes with your shield on it?”

Steve chuckles. “Is that why you want one, hm?” he asks teasingly, nudging James gently with his elbow as the nine-year-old chuckles and shakes his head.

“Kinda,” he admits sheepishly, and Steve chuckles. “But...but it’s ‘cause they said when they see your shield it makes them feel safe because of how you protect people using it, including you and Mom.” James smiles. “I  _ wanna _ be like that, Dad.” His smile fades slightly. “Please tell me you want it too.”

His chest aches, because as much as it’s flattering and heartwarming to know that his son looks up to him as a protector and not a fighter, and wants to  _ be _ as such, he doesn’t. Not for James,  _ not _ when the stakes are high with his life, and not when he can still do so much else to help others. _ There are many ways, _ he thinks.  _ So many ways he can help without having to risk his life. _

But he knows his son better—when he makes his mind up in a decision, it’s rare for him to change it. He’s too much like his mother that way. Even if he’s nine, and still has a  _ whole _ future ahead of him, it’s a shot in the dark for Steve to hope that he’ll change his mind.

He still hopes, though.

“I’m not saying I don’t, buddy,” Steve starts quietly, looking down at his hands, and he swallows. “I just don’t want you to…”  _ To risk your life, to die an early death, to live a shorter life than me and your mother. _ “To get hurt.” He looks back at his son and gives him a small smile. “Being a superhero, you’re always in danger. I just don’t want you to  _ always _ be in danger, Jamie. You still have a whole life ahead of you.”

“But I wanna spend my  _ whole _ life helping people, Dad,” James tells his father softly. “And I wanna do it like how you and  _ Mom _ do it.”

“James…” Steve trails off, and James frowns, his bottom lip sticking out as his eyes widen at his father. Steve sighs, wrapping an arm around his son, and pulling him closer, pressing a kiss on top of his head. It was one thing to admit to himself that his once-little boy is growing up, and it’s definitely another to realize that he wants to be somewhat like him and his mother: a superhero, an Avenger, a life that if all of them in the team would have to choose, they wouldn’t voluntarily take if there was  _ another _ way they could do their avenging.

James whimpers quietly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s torso as Steve closes his eyes, pressing his lips on his red hair. No, he doesn’t want James to pick up the shield from him when he grows up, but he can’t deny the growing pride he still feels inside him—that his son  _ looks up _ at his parents, him and Natasha, and he actually sees beyond the fighting and instead focuses on the good they try to do. And the mindset his son has is also appalling, amazing in every sense, that he wants to focus on doing good for the rest of his life, thus the desire to be a superhero.

As much as he wants to protect his son from the dangers of superhero life, he couldn’t help but actually be excited for the day his son will become one. And he knows he’ll be a good one.

“How ‘bout this, hm?” Steve asks, pulling away slightly so he is looking at his son. “Maybe in...let’s say when you become sixteen, if you still want to be a superhero, you tell me, okay? And then we’ll have our own private trainings, so I can help you become  _ the _ best superhero there is?”

James’ face lights up, and he grins widely at his father. “You mean it?” he asks excitedly, and Steve nods.

_ “If _ you decide to be a superhero,” Steve says. “But nobody’s forcing you, alright? Not me, not Mom, and definitely not Sarah. Okay? If you still wanna become a superhero when you become sixteen, if your mind doesn’t change, then yeah, I’ll be the one to train you.”

James’ eyes sparkle in excitement. He’s always  _ wanted _ to be trained by his Dad, especially because he wants to be like him when he grows up. “My mind’s never gonna change.” he says, and Steve chuckles.  _ So much like his mother. _

“We’ll see ‘bout that,” Steve says, smirking, and James laughs. “Now come on, let’s go back to see if Mom and Sarah are up too.”

James hops off the bench, and he watches in awe at how Steve straps his shield at his arm. James smiles widely when Steve looks down at him, and he smiles, as he takes his son’s hand with his free arm, and they walk out of the gym together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder what part 2, 3, etc will be? :o As usual, reviews, comments and kudos appreciated!


	34. Just Like You (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 34\. Sarah decides who she wants to be, and she has a talk about it with her mother.
> 
> "She cups Sarah’s face and smiles gently. “We love you because you’re you, and no matter what choice you make in deciding who you want to be, you will always be our Sarah Rose. You will always be my daughter, Jamie’s sister, and your father’s favorite girl. Nothing will ever change that, babe, nothing and no one can make us say otherwise.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a prompt, but the situation and conversations are definitely based on something that happened to me (except for the superhero thing LOL i wish!), and I figured it's also very applicable to the dynamics and circumstances of the Rogers, so here it is! Hope you guys enjoy!

Sarah pushes her food on her plate using her fork, listening as her parents and brother start talking about their day in training. It’s the usual routine, and Sarah figures it was time for that  _ one _ portion during dinner time that she couldn’t really do anything but listen, not even contribute to the conversation because it wasn’t like she was part of it.

Ever since James had joined in training with S.H.I.E.L.D. when he became eighteen, the conversations wouldn’t stop. And she didn’t see anything wrong about it, really. Her parents had always been very meticulous about how James trained, and what his training consisted of. They would ask about his well being after each training session, and how he does and in what areas he can probably improve on. Their Dad would recount stories of his training when he woke up from the ice and joined the organization, and their Mom would also tell him her own stories from her training days during her earlier days in the organization, both as ways of advice for James.

She and James would listen attentively, of course, because for her, it was as if she was looking into pieces of her parents’ past, fragments of stories about who they were before they became Mom and Dad. For James, on the other hand, they were fragments of lessons and pieces of advice he could apply in real life—in terms of work ethics, training ethics, mindsets and routines he can pick up to better himself in terms of skills and training. They would ask questions as the stories go on, with James focusing more on the technicality of their training, and her focusing more on how the experience managed to make her parents better people and superheroes. They would answer all of their questions, of course, with patience and ease, but they would elaborate more on the technicalities for the sake of her brother so as to make it a lesson of how he can be as good as them.

Now that James had been in training for four years (six, if you count the private lessons he had with their parents, uncles and aunts at sixteen before he joined S.H.I.E.L.D.), she had gotten used to the fact that the superhero and training talk is kind of part of the whole routine, one of the outline for the list of things to talk about during dinner in the Rogers household. It would be like a “superhero-time”, for the superheroes and superhero-in-training in the family.

Which means it’s everyone in the family but  _ her. _

And it’s not like she minded at all, because she didn’t think it was  _ ever _ a big deal, so she would respect this superhero time during their dinner every evening, so she would stay silent, listen attentively, occasionally joining in the conversation to ask some questions, make some remarks or laugh along with her family. She didn’t mind, because she knew she was going to have her own time afterwards anyway.

But tonight makes it different, perhaps, because of  _ everything _ that happened the entire day, so she just stays silent, her mind definitely elsewhere far away from the dining table as she continues to play with the broccoli on her plate. She doesn’t laugh at the jokes, nor does she ask questions or make remarks like how her brother and parents expect her to, as she is too busy playing with what’s left of her food (and thinking about other wilder and stressful things), so she is somehow oblivious to the way James would flicker his eyes at his sister worriedly, and the way Steve and Natasha would eye their daughter because of her unusual silence, the way her eyebrows would furrow almost subconsciously as if she was battling mentally with herself.

But they don’t mention it. Because they know Sarah well enough to know that if they  _ do _ point out even in the form of a gentle confrontation over dinner, she would further recoil. So Steve just looks at Natasha, as if helplessly, and she gives him a small nod, finding his hand under the dinner table and giving it a light and reassuring squeeze, as if telling him,  _ I got this. _

After cleaning up after dinner (because it was  _ their _ turn to clean up after dinner), both Steve and Natasha expected to find their daughter with her brother in the living room playing Switch. Instead they see him playing alone. “Jamie, d’you know where your sister is?” she asks, and James looks up at his parents.

“I saw her walk in her room after I asked her if she wanted to play,” he says, shrugging. “She doesn’t wanna play nor talk, so I just gave her some space.” James knows his sister well enough to do so, of course, to give her space when she needs to as a means of taking care and looking after her as well. 

“D’you know if something happened?” Steve asks, walking over as James makes space on the couch beside him for his father, while Natasha stays put by the kitchen counter, her arms crossed over her chest as she leans against it.

“I…” James looks over at Natasha and sighs. “Something happened, but...I think it’s best if you ask her yourself.” He pauses, and the corners of his mouth quirk downward. “I think you should talk to her, Mom.”

“Did you guys fight?” Steve asks gently, and James shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s...it’s not  _ us, _ I mean we’re good. You know us,” he shrugs in assurance, as he gives them a small smile. “It’s somethin’ else, though, that’s...that’s  _ not _ David too, so...it’s really something else.”

Steve looks over at Natasha worriedly, and she sighs as she nods. “Okay, I’ll...I’ll go find her.” she tells them, and they both nod, as Natasha proceeds to walk to the hallway of their floor.

She walks over in front of her daughter’s bedroom, raising her hand to knock, but she hears a faint sound of familiar classical music coming from the end of the hallway.

_ The Nutcracker, _ one of her daughter’s favorite music to dance to, one of her many favorite dances.

So she walks at the end of the hallway, and pushes open the door to the dance room, and finds Sarah, clad in a pair of tights, loose shirt and pointe shoes, dancing the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, something she found her daughter obsessing over with their past few sessions. Natasha watches, a fond smile growing on her face, at the way her daughter moves so gracefully and light, her footwork on point and almost perfect, she feels her heart swelling with pride. Sarah sees her on the mirror, but she just smiles at her mother, not even pausing or missing a beat.

She is elegant, mesmerizing, one of the best Natasha had ever had the honor of watching, and definitely not _ just _ because she is her daughter.

_ She’d make a beautiful dancer. _

Sarah finishes the routine by the pirouettes and turns, all of them are graceful, perfect and beautiful. All of them epitomizing who Sarah is.

Natasha claps when she finishes, and Sarah smiles as she turns to look at her mother. “You improve everyday, my love,” Natasha says, walking over to embrace her daughter tightly in her arms, and Sarah wraps her arms around her mother’s waist, closing her eyes as she smiles. “Growing more graceful everyday.”

Sarah giggles as she pulls away from her mother, and Natasha brushes off some of her hair from her face. “You wanted to practice late at night too? We can do that.” she tells Sarah. Natasha watches as Sarah’s smile slowly fades, and she clears her throat.

“No, Mom, I...I just needed to get something off my mind,” she says softly, and shrugs. “What better way to do it than ballet, right?”

Natasha gives her a small smile. “Wanna tell me about it?” she asks gently.

Sarah looks into her mother’s green eyes, and she sees gentleness, openness and vulnerability, all of which are absent every time she would transform as the Black Widow, as Agent Romanoff, but all of which are  _ always _ present every time she would come home to Sarah’s father, and her and her brother. She wonders, for a split second, how she can do it—the immediate and almost swift transformation from a gentle and loving mother to a, what they call, “cold-hearted and all-business spy” like the Black Widow, how she transforms from Natasha Romanoff-Rogers to simply Agent Romanoff, like how everyone in S.H.I.E.L.D. calls her.

It almost makes her want to open up and ask her about it,  _ almost. _

“It’s fine,” Sarah answers softly, shaking her head as she forces a smile. “I’m fine, Mom.”

But Natasha can easily see right through her daughter, because as much as she is as evasive and private as her (which, she found out, is sometimes  _ frustrating, _ and she tells Steve this, who just laughs at her, and tells her she now knows “how it feels”), she also wears her heart on her sleeve, much like how Steve is. She sighs, leaning to press a soft kiss on her daughter’s forehead as she feels Sarah sigh.

“You know you can always tell me anything, right?” she asks, and Natasha feels a pang in her chest when she sees Sarah hesitate a little, but she nods nonetheless, giving her mother a small smile. Natasha smiles back, cupping her daughter’s cheeks and leaning in to press a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “Wanna be left alone for a while?

Sarah couldn’t do anything but nod, and Natasha smiles gently as she nods. She’ll coax her tomorrow, maybe. “Come say good night before going to your room, okay?” she asks, and Sarah nods again, so Natasha turns to leave.

Her hand is already on the knob of the door when Sarah asks in a soft and small voice, “D’you want me to be like you?”

Natasha pauses, and she turns back to look at Sarah, who looks small as she has her arms wrapped around her, as if protecting herself from whatever possible answer that may hurt her. Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly and blinks. “What do you mean by that, sweetie?” she asks gently.

Sarah shifts her weight from one foot to another and she sighs. “Do you...do  _ you _ want me to become like you?” she asks again, her voice softer and smaller. “Like...like a superhero?”  _ The next Black Widow, _ as someone had told Sarah earlier today.

_ You gonna follow your Mom’s footsteps and be the next Black Widow? _

Natasha blinks in surprise. “Do  _ you _ want to?” she asks softly.

Sarah bites her bottom lip, contemplating whether or not to tell the truth, because she’s afraid of letting her mother down. She’s afraid of letting  _ her family _ down. “Do you?” she asks, bringing the question back to her mother, because she doesn’t want to answer.  _ Better to be safe than to disappoint,  _ she figures.

Natasha gives her daughter a gentle smile, and walks over to her. She takes Sarah’s hand gently and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Sarah feels like she wants to tear up right then and there as she feels her mother’s hand take hers, as if the pent-up emotions and frustration of every superhero-time conversation they’d been having without her have been catching up on its emotional toll on her. She feels her eyes stinging, and she looks away, because  _ no, _ there aren’t any pent-up emotions and frustrations during every superhero-time conversation at dinner.

_ I mean, you have to, right? ‘Cause your Mom and Dad are Avengers, and your brother’s gonna be an Avenger too. _

Okay, yeah, she  _ does _ have pent-up emotions.

“Sarah,” Natasha says softly, tipping her daughter’s chin with her free hand so she can look at her. Sarah looks at her mother as Natasha smiles, giving her daughter’s hand a squeeze. “Did something happen?”

And Sarah feels her chest constricting and her eyes stinging as she feels tears well in her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, to tell her mother that  _ no, _ nothing is wrong, but for some reason, she ended up letting out a soft whimper as the tears just fell. Natasha immediately pulls her daughter closer to her chest and embraces her, rubbing her back comfortingly as she shushes gently, pressing small and reassuring kisses on top of her head as Sarah pulls her mother closer by embracing her tighter.

“It’s okay,” Natasha tells her daughter softly. “Just let it out, baby. I’m here.”

And Sarah  _ does _ let it out—all the frustration and pent-up feelings and emotions she never got the chance to process, let alone  _ accept. _ She sobs harder in her mother’s chest as Natasha continues to soothe and comfort her through kisses and small whispers.

She doesn’t know what’s wrong, but maybe she has a bit of a hunch on what  _ is. _ Honestly speaking, she has no problem talking about it, because she doesn’t see it as a big deal, but if her daughter sees it as such, she  _ has _ to know why. She  _ has _ to know why it’s making her so upset if it doesn’t make Natasha feel any sort of negative feelings at all.

Something  _ must _ have happened, like what James said, and she wants to know what it was.

Sarah calms down a few moments after, and even so, she doesn’t let go of her embrace from Natasha. She wants to hold on to her mother, wants to be held by her, in case the worst happens after tonight. She wants to savor the moment, her in her mother’s embrace, in case her paranoia becomes a reality, because she knows that  _ now, _ she has no choice but to tell her mother the truth of what was bothering her, and what has been running through her mind the whole day that made her become so upset.

She pulls away slightly, and Natasha brings her hands to cup Sarah’s face, her thumbs brushing on her cheeks to wipe away the tears. She doesn’t say anything, instead waits for her daughter to set the mood and the topic she’s more comfortable with starting with, and then they’ll go from there. She waits for her to be more comfortable speaking, and to not feel forced, because the  _ least _ Natasha ever wants to do in her life is to make her daughter feel uncomfortable, like she’s forced to do things not according to how she wants it to be.

It’s applicable, even to the possible conversation they might have tonight.

“M-Mom, d-do you…” Sarah starts, and takes a few deep breaths as Natasha continues to brush her daughter’s cheeks with her thumbs soothingly and reassuringly. “D-do you...do you want...d’you want me to b-be like you?”

How does one even answer that?

“Like a superhero?” Natasha asks softly, because it’s what her daughter had said a few moments ago before she started crying. Sarah nods, not trusting her voice to speak, let alone open her mouth as she might just have another breakdown yet again. Natasha frowns slightly. “If you want to.”

“Mom.” Sarah says almost exasperatedly, frowning as she feels her eyes filling with tears again.

“I’m serious, babe,” Natasha says gently. “If you want to become a superhero, then of course I’d be fine with it. Whatever you wanna be, whatever makes you happy, I’m happy with it.”

“But do  _ you _ want to?” Sarah repeats, her voice breaking. “It’s a simple yes or no question, Mom, do  _ you _ want me to be like you, to be the  _ next _ Black Widow because Jamie’s gonna be the next Captain America?”  _ Because it’s what everyone says and believes, _ she wants to add _ . Is it also what you believe? _

“It’s not a simple yes or no, Sarah, not from  _ me, _ at least, but from you,” she answers, and she brushes away her daughter’s hair, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s a yes or no question that not I can answer, not even your Dad or Jamie.” She smiles gently. “But only  _ you _ can.”

_ She has to, ‘cause imagine the fight that’s gonna happen in the family if one of ‘em becomes an outlier. _ An outlier. It’s what she is, and what always has been.

Natasha sighs when Sarah doesn’t say anything. “But if you  _ really _ want to ask me, if I want  _ you _ to take my place,” she says, and Sarah looks at her with wide and expectant eyes, as Natasha lets out a small smile. “Just remember how I reacted when your brother expressed his want to join S.H.I.E.L.D. when he was sixteen. It would be the same reaction I’d have if you so happen to have the same kind of desire.”

She remembers it: her mother’s wide eyes, incredulous shrieks and stressed persona, as if James had made an  _ extremely  _ stupid mistake and Natasha had to clean it up herself. She remembers the arguments her parents had over it, with Steve warming up to the idea of training James for combat and martial arts to kick off his hero career, while Natasha had been totally against it because it was a dangerous life to live, and she wanted no danger when it comes to her children’s lives (because who in the right mind would want to pose their kids to a lifetime of danger, anyway?). She had eventually warmed up to it, a year into James’ private training sessions with Steve in combat, and Agent May in martial arts, she took her own son up in basic espionage and weapons training using batons. But Sarah, being the one in the background and being James’ number one venting buddy, of course remembers every moment that led up to James eventually being admitted to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s official training.

It was  _ extremely  _ stressful, that even James admitted it so, but it had been worth it at the end.

Sarah lets out a small smile, and Natasha smiles. “But then you remember how I was too, when he eventually got the hang of it, when I found out how happy he was that he was doing it,” she says, and Sarah nods. “Because all I ever want for you guys is to do whatever it is that makes you happy, that makes you  _ you. _ I don’t care if it’s to follow my or your father’s footsteps, I only care if it makes you happy or not.” She then smiles widely. “There’s also a preference if you don’t put your life in danger, of course, but...we can work it out if it’s also what you want.” She shrugs, and Sarah lets out a soft chuckle.

Sarah rubs her eyes with the back of her hands, and Natasha takes her hands, gently tugging her down so they’re both sitting on the floor, cross-legged as they held each other’s hands. “Tell me,” Natasha urges her daughter softly. “Is that what’s been bothering you the whole day?”

Sarah swallows down her throat as she nods, and she looks down at their hands. “Earlier today, after our ballet training, and you went down to a mission briefing with Dad, I went to visit Jamie in the training facility,” she starts, and Natasha listens attentively. “It’s...it’s not like it was my first time there, right? I’m just...rarely  _ there _ since there’s barely a reason for me to go ‘cause you guys come up home after training anyway, or Morgan usually prefers to meet somewhere else after _her_ training, or...or the rest of my uncles and aunties file in the communal room, so there’s no reason for me to be there at all, except to visit you guys.”

Sarah takes a deep breath. “But for some reason, when I was there, everyone quickly assumed I was there to join S.H.I.E.L.D., and everyone had an opinion, Mom, which was the  _ worst  _ thing,” she huffs, and the corner of Natasha’s lips turn downward, because of everyone in the Avengers who knows about people having opinions on others’ lives, it would be her. “And even so, they don’t even try to hide it. Some of them were very open on asking me, or letting me know that I  _ should _ follow your footsteps because it  _ makes _ perfect sense that I’d become a superhero since I’m from a family of superheroes, that my parents, brother, aunties, uncles and _heck,_ they even mentioned Coop and Morgan, that you guys are _all_ superheroes or training to be one. I mean, Mom, they even had the  _ audacity _ to let me know that they  _ think _ of the possible arguments we’d have as a family if I say I wouldn’t wanna be one.” Natasha chuckles softly at that, shaking her head, as Sarah rolls her eyes and scoffs. “It’s as if they had to  _ have  _ a say of my business, of _our_ business.”

But then she sighs and shakes her head. “And some of them...some of them were really saying you’d be disappointed if I don’t become like you,” she says softly, looking down at her lap, and Natasha gives her hands a reassuring squeeze. “That I’m not  _ like _ you, like part of the family with you, Dad and Jamie, like a black sheep or something especially in the Avengers' circle.” Natasha frowns at that, and Sarah sighs as she looks up at her mother. “It got the best of me, Mom, it...it did a number on me.”

It made her doubt about her place in the Rogers family, her family’s love for her and her decisions for her future. She had been set on what she wanted to do after high school, since she is merely months away from stepping into her last year in high school (which meant SATs, college course decisions and all that), but after hearing all of it,  _ every _ single remark said to her, she had been willing to change everything, throw away everything she dreamt of if it meant regaining a position in her family, regaining her family’s love and respect for her.

Natasha, on the other hand, is speechless. Angry, too, but she figures she  _ has  _ to redirect her anger at anywhere or anyone but at Sarah. She is  _ extremely _ angry, because even though she knew how it felt like to be talked about behind her back, it’s different when the talks are about someone she loves, someone she protects and cherishes the most, like Sarah. Who the  _ hell _ were they to think they had a say on how her daughter should live her life? And who the  _ hell _ were they to have a say on what and how their family would deal with it?

“But Jamie was there, Mom, he...he heard everything,” Sarah continues, as if sensing her mother’s rising anger, as she squeezes her mother’s hands reassuringly. “He heard everything, and he defended me, and shot the other trainees down so...so it’s all...it’s all good, it’s just...you know.” She frowns, looking away. “It doesn’t automatically mean I never heard it.”

“What did he say?” Natasha asks, and Sarah looks back at her mother. “What did Jamie say?”

Sarah blinks. “He said they didn’t have the right to talk about me that way, about our family that way, let alone have a say on what I should do in my life,” she says, recounting in her head her brother’s mini monologue as he shot down the agents who started asking and talking about Sarah.  _ You don’t know my family, and you know nothing about my sister and what she does or what she loves to do. _ “He said that...that I wasn’t an outlier just because of the choices I make, and that I’m his sister, and I’m your daughter no matter what happens.”  _ And anyone who talks and says shit about my sister, all of you will have to go through the three of us. Hell, you'd have to go through the rest of the Avengers, even through Cooper Barton and Morgan Stark, so unless you don't want to deal with that, get the fuck out of my family’s business and mind your own! _

He got in trouble from his supervising officer for the cussing, but Sarah had been there to bail him out of it, as well as their Auntie Sharon who had witnessed the unfolding of James’ monologue because of the crowd it had gathered near her office where they had been. When she had learned of what happened, she agreed to let the case slide and not report it to the higher-ups (which included their parents), but warned James to make his future speeches cleaner and less angrier next time. She winked at both of them and dismissed the rest of the trainees.

“He’s right, you know,” Natasha says softly, lifting a hand to smooth Sarah’s hair as she smiles. “You’re not an outlier in this family, Sarah, not even if you’re a bit different in terms of what you choose to do in your life. Our love for you transcends beyond your choice of your future, babe, and it had  _ never _ been based on that at all.” She cups Sarah’s face and smiles gently. “We love you because you’re  _ you, _ and no matter what choice you make in deciding who you want to be, you will  _ always _ be our Sarah Rose. You will always be  _ my _ daughter, Jamie’s sister, and your father’s favorite girl.  _ Nothing _ will ever change that, babe,  _ nothing _ and no one can make us say otherwise.”

Sarah looks into her mother’s raw and gentle eyes, and she feels the knots in her chest loosening. “I don’t wanna be a superhero, Mom,” she says softly. “I don’t wanna be like you in that way.”

Natasha smiles and nods. “I know, babe.” she answers softly, smiling widely at her daughter.

“I wanna be a dancer, Mom, like a professional one who went to dance school or took up dance in college,” she continues, finding the courage in her mother’s smile to continue. Natasha smiles wider, and Sarah gives her mother a smile too. “I wanna be like you in  _ that _ way.”

Natasha laughs softly. “You don’t have to be like me, sweetie,” she tells her daughter gently, even if her heart is swelling at the words her daughter had said. These were the words she never imagined she would hear from anyone, let alone come from her own daughter:  _ I wanna be like you, _ but here they were anyway, and she feels her heart soaring a million miles per hour. “You’re perfect the way you already are.”

Sarah giggles, and she grins at her mother. “So are you, Mom, which is why I wanna be like you.” she says, and Natasha laughs softly, feeling her own eyes fill with tears, because  _ wow, _ when had her daughter become such a sap like her father? Sarah had always been sweet as a little girl, but she never imagined her seventeen-year-old to still be  _ as _ sweet and loving as she had been when she was younger.

“Sap,” Natasha jokes, and Sarah laughs softly, as Natasha smiles. “And you’ll be a  _ great _ dancer, Sarah, I promise you. We’ll let you get into Juilliard or something.”

Sarah laughs. “Mom, I think that’s too much for me.” she says, shaking her head, and Natasha chuckles.

“Have you seen yourself? That’s Juilliard talent right there, and even  _ more,” _ she says, grinning widely and Sarah just laughs. “You underestimate yourself too much, babe.” Natasha smirks. “It’s insulting.”

“Mom,” Sarah laughs, shaking her head as she leans back, stretching their arms, and Natasha grips on to her daughter’s hand tightly. Sarah lets out an exaggerated sigh and rolls her eyes playfully, but she is unable to keep the smile off her face. “Okay,  _ fine, _ you’re a great teacher, Mom, obviously ‘cause of who I am.”

“Damn right, babe,” Natasha says, winking, and Sarah chuckles. Natasha squeezes her hands and smiles, as Sarah takes a relieved sigh and smiles. “D’you believe me, at least? When I say you’re good, and you are loved no matter what you do and no matter who you decide to be?”

Sarah smiles widely, because while, moments ago, she may have lost her faith in herself and her position in this family, now she feels more assured and more secure about her place and about the love her family has for her. She had been shaken to the core, of course, because of her fear to be disassociated and removed from her family, because of how people tried to assume they knew her parents better than herself. But now, after finally opening up to her mother, whom she considers as her role model and best friend, after deeply realizing her brother’s monologue and defense for her against those who tried to dip their business into their family, and after being assured of the infinite and magnanimous love they have for her, she knows that while people  _ might _ still continue to assume many things about her and her family, all of it will be insignificant.

Because all she had to do was trust in the love her brother and parents have for her.  _ We love you because you’re you, and no matter what choice you make in deciding who you want to be, you will always be our Sarah Rose. _ It’s all that matters, the way her family loves her and supports her, and the rest of the world can fade away.

“I do, Mom,” Sarah answers softly, and Natasha smiles. Sarah flings her arms around her mother, and Natasha chuckles, embracing her daughter tightly as she presses a kiss on the side of her head. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie,” Natasha responds, smoothing her daughter’s hair. She pulls away, and smiles widely at her daughter. “How ‘bout another round of dance, hm? To make things more perfect?”

Sarah laughs, but she nods. “I think that’ll be great.” she says softly, and Natasha stands, pulling Sarah up back on her feet again.

Natasha retrieves her own pointe shoes and wears them, just as Sarah goes to replay The Nutcracker playing on the room’s speakers. Natasha ties her hair to a loose bun, and Sarah does the same too, feeling more confident and more invincible now, especially as she watches in the mirror how her mother stands beside her, taking her position, as the music starts. Natasha smiles at her daughter in the mirror, and Sarah grins, and they watch themselves dance gracefully and elegantly to the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ain't the end of the miniseries within a series, so stay tuned for parts 3 (onwards?)! Also stay tuned for more updates in this work, since I've recently ended my semester in uni (very early, but finally), so I'm redirecting my brain energy to writing instead. Anyway, reviews, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Also don't forget to check out my other works, especially my new series called Modern Love!


	35. The Shadows of A Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 35\. Prompt: "A mission leaves Steve deeply disturbed and worried and he questions whether he should consider stopping being Captain America if it endangers his family."
> 
> "Steve takes a shaky breath, resting his forehead against his wife’s. “Would you still love me even if I wasn’t Captain America?” he asks quietly. Natasha blinks, and she sighs as she adjusts herself so she is facing Steve, and both her hands are cupping his face. “I would love you even if you were still that scrawny little kid in Brooklyn.” she tells him softly.""

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by steveandnatlover! Thank you so much for this prompt. I must admit, I tried and tried writing (and deleting) several narratives for this to work (because I so badly wanted to as well!) so I hope you'll like this one!

_ “Oh, beautiful,” _ Steve closes his eyes as he can still remember her voice inside his head. He clenches his fist and bows his head.  _ “Beautiful when she’s asleep, hm? Your little girl, what’s her name again?” _

_ “Your children are wonderful, beautiful family you have, Captain,” _ Steve lets out a hot and shaky breath as he shakes his head, clenching on to the edge of the sink as he tries to get rid of the voice still ringing in his ears.  _ “Beautiful wife, beautiful children. Oh, so lovely, this family. It’s a shame they have to die so quickly.” _

“Steve?”

He snaps his head up and opens his eyes when he hears three knocks on the door, his heart immediately calming as he hears his wife’s soft voice from the other side. His grip on the sink loosens, as he takes a deep breath, and he looks at his reflection in the mirror. He told Natasha he was going to clean up after the cuts and bruises from the mission, clean up the dust and soot on his face and in his hair, but he hadn’t even made a move to remove his suit from his body.

“Honey, is everything okay?” Natasha asks, and Steve shuts his eyes close again and shakes his head.

_ “Your wife—would she still look beautiful if she were to be asleep forever?” _

“I’m fine,” Steve says, the corner of his eyes stinging as he feels the tears coming in. He fights to keep his voice steady as he takes a shaky breath as he sniffles. “Just taking a while.”

“Can I come in?” she asks, and even if he couldn’t see her face, he knows of the small wrinkle between her brows and above her nose that could be forming on her face as she asks that, especially with that tone of hers, the one filled with worry yet laced with gentleness and non-invasiveness. It’s a tone she uses on their children, and on him too, occasionally when she would wait on him to tell her if something was bothering her.

But immediately, he thinks of the image of her dead body lying on their floor, her red hair splayed out and blood trickling down her mouth and nose, her eyes open and lifeless. It’s the same image that that  _ bitch, _ that woman had put in his mind not too long ago—the image he would always be so afraid of seeing but is now forced to revisit it over and over again because that was just how her power worked. That was just how weak he was that he had been under her spell and control, and now he was to suffer the consequences by himself.

_ “She would make a beautiful corpse, still.” _

The door to their bathroom opens, and he looks in the mirror to find Natasha by the doorway, their ring of keys in her hand. She sighs, a worried look in her eyes, and that wrinkle between her brows present like he knew it would.

“Steve…” she starts softly, shaking her head as she slowly takes a step towards him, and he shuts his eyes and bows down his head as he lets out a quiet sob.

_ “Imagine letting your family die because you couldn’t let go of your goddamn ego, Captain Rogers.” _

He feels her arms snaking around his torso, and her kissing the spot between his shoulder blades, and he starts sobbing. He turns in her arms and embraces her, pulling her closer to his chest as he inhales the scent of vanilla and lemongrass in her hair, and as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. He hears her shushing him softly, and feels her pressing light kisses on his head as she runs her fingers through his messy and disheveled hair. He hears her telling him that everything was going to be okay, that she loves him, and that she is here and the kids are safe and asleep, and she is here, she is here, always be here.

It’s practically the only thing pulling him together now.

Steve pulls away slightly, his tears still streaming down his face as he lets out a whimper, his mouth pressing to kiss her on her forehead, then on her hair, on her cheeks, on her temples, on her nose, and on her lips. Natasha sighs against his mouth as she cups his face, her thumbs gently brushing away his tears that are already on her face with their proximity. She kisses him back gently and softly, as his grip on her waist tightens, and he lets out a sob against her mouth.

_ “Imagine watching your wife die because you put your goddamn star-spangled shield as a priority above her. Shame on you, Captain.” _

“Hey,” Natasha whispers, pulling away from his kiss as their foreheads touch. He sighs, tears still flowing down his face as he sniffles, and she presses a chaste kiss on his lips. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

He sighs shakily as he lets her go albeit hesitantly, and she does her work in unzipping his suit, carefully removing it from his body in case there would be visible injuries on his body. She is careful to observe, but when she finds only minor cuts and bruises that would heal by the serum overnight, she figured that there were deeper and far worse injuries that he might have gotten from the mission: those that are hard to miss, made evident by the nonstop tears flowing from his eyes, those that she might have no idea how to cure and make it better, as it was something that not medicine, nor gauzes can fix so easily.

He is stripped down to his underwear, and even then, he couldn’t stop crying. She sighs, and she moves to open the shower as she also makes the move to remove her shirt and yoga pants. Steve looks at his wife and he whimpers lightly, and Natasha raises an eyebrow at him.

“Relax, babe, we’re not doing anything,” she assures him gently.  _ We’re not gonna do anything unless you really feel like it.  _ “I’ll just help you clean up, okay? Remove your underwear?”

He does as he is told, and removes his underwear, as she removes hers as well, feeling the need to take a shower as well after all that has happened the entire day. She takes Steve’s hand and pulls him with her in the shower. He takes a deep breath when he feels the warm water against his skin, and he closes his eyes as he feels Natasha’s hands rubbing his hair and his face, cleaning off the dust, dirt and soot that had already accumulated in his hair and on his body.

“Clean with some soap, babe,” Natasha urges him gently, and he opens his eyes to find his wife soaked with him in the shower as she takes the bottle of shampoo. “You can do it, hm?”

Steve nods, and he takes the soap bar and rubs it on his arms and his body, rubbing and cleaning away the remnants of the earlier mission. He relaxes and sighs when he feels Natasha’s fingers rubbing his scalp, and he inhales the scent of his usual mint shampoo. He watches Natasha rub his hair concentratedly, as if precisely removing all the dirt and dust in his hair.

“Want me to clean you up too?” Steve asks softly, putting his soap bar down as he starts to take hers. She looks up at him and blinks.

“Okay."

So he cleans her too, rubbing soap on her body. His hands slide and travel down her curves, her arms reaching up to his hair, her breasts, tummy and legs. She sighs under his touch, and after he is done, he pulls her closer to him as they rinse each other’s hair and bodies. Even after they have neither soap or shampoo on their bodies, they still stay under the shower, Steve just content under the warm water with Natasha safe in his arms, and Natasha with her eyes closed as she presses soft kisses on his face.

They eventually close the shower and dry up, as Natasha puts her clothes back on herself. “I’ll get you some clothes, alright?” she asks, and Steve nods. She leaves, and comes back quickly, a fresh pair of underwear, some training pants and loose shirt in her hands as Steve dries his hair and body. She dries her hair just as Steve wears the clothes, and once both of them are done, Steve leans down to press a soft kiss on his wife’s mouth and she sighs against his mouth.

“Jamie and Sarah are asleep on our bed,” Natasha tells him softly. “D’you want to go to bed now too?”

It’s barely even eight in the evening, and she knew Steve hadn’t even ate dinner yet (neither did she nor the kids, but dinner is practically the last thing in their minds after everything that happened), and it’s also too early for them to turn in for the evening if they wanna follow their usual evening routine. Steve doesn’t want to turn in yet without having a proper conversation with his wife, but he’s already tired to the bone, and while he knows sleep is very tempting, he also knows it’ll be impossible for him to get it. Not after all the things she made him believe, not after all the images of his dead family that she made him remember, and definitely not after learning that her threats hadn’t been empty threats, and if it weren’t for the whole team and Natasha, he would’ve come home to exactly the images she had tried so hard for him to believe as a reality.

“I wanna see ‘em,” Steve tells his wife quietly, as Natasha brushes his damp hair lightly. “Wanna see ‘em and say sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, Steve,” Natasha reminds him firmly, as she moves her hands to cup his face. “You don’t get to be sorry for something that’s not your fault.”

Steve feels his eyes filling with tears again, and Natasha moves to press a reassuring kiss on his lips, “We’re okay, you see? And you’re okay. You’re alive, and everyone is alive, Steve. Everyone is okay.” she tells him softly, her thumbs brushing on his cheeks affectionately and carefully. Steve wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in for an embrace, as Natasha presses a kiss on his cheek and wraps her arms around his neck, her hand running through his hair.

“Wanna see ‘em, Nat.” Steve murmurs as he pulls away, and Natasha nods, intertwining their fingers together as she pulls him out of the bathroom. She closes the lights, and they walk to their bedroom, with Steve right behind Natasha.

She pushes the door open slowly and quietly, and Steve takes a deep breath, his eyes stinging and his chest heaving in both relief and guilt when he sees his two children both fast asleep on their bed. He lets go of Natasha’s hand as he slowly walks over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it on his side, where Sarah is sleeping peacefully and tightly, her long eyelashes nearly touching her cheeks and her mouth slightly open.

_ “What a shame, a waste of life and youth.” _

He whimpers, shaking his head as he leans down to brush off the hair gently off her face, pressing a kiss on her forehead and the tip of her nose, whispering a small and soft “I love you, little princess” to his daughter. The toddler stirs a little, inching herself closer to the source of the touch, as Steve rubs her hand on her back, pressing soft kisses on her head to soothe the girl back to sleep.

Natasha crosses her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorframe of their bedroom, feeling her chest ache as tears fill her eyes as she watches her husband cry silently, pressing kisses on their little girl’s head. She wonders what could have went down there, what had happened to him, apart from learning what his family had gone through while he was gone—how they deceived him and attempted to hurt them while he was gone. She watches as he moves carefully, walking around the bed to sit on the edge of the bed beside James, doing the same thing as he did with Sarah. Natasha watches as their little boy stirs, and eventually settles as Steve gently runs his pinky down the bridge of James’ nose soothingly—a technique she and Steve use to put their kids to sleep.

“Come on.” Natasha tells Steve softly, walking over to him to take his hand as she pulls him up. Steve takes one look at their children, as if convincing himself that they’re alive and right there, and he takes a shaky breath as he squeezes her hand and she looks back at him when they reach the living room. He turns and closes their bedroom door behind him, as she looks up at him with wide eyes.

He tugs her gently to the living room as he sits, and he pulls her to sit on his lap, pulling her close as she rests her head on his, her one arm wrapped around his shoulders, and one hand cupping his face, her thumb brushing gently on his cheek.

“Talk to me, Steve,” Natasha tells him softly. “I’m here. I’m here, and I’m ready to listen. I’m  _ here, _ Steve, please.”

She is, and he knows that, of course. He can feel her kisses, the way her fingers brush through his hair, and her body against his. He can smell her soap and shampoo, and if he listens closely, she can hear her heart beating inside her chest—a sign of life, and a sign of love for him and their family. She is here—alive and breathing—his wife, the love of his life, here in his arms and close to him.

But he doesn’t feel like it, not when the recurring images of his wife’s dead body keeps running in his mind, not when the woman’s empty threats on his children keep ringing in his mind.

And definitely  _ not _ when those empty threats turned out to be real, and his family had almost died at his cost.

_ “Imagine losing your family for the second time, Captain Rogers, all of which died because of you.” _

Steve takes a shaky breath, resting his forehead against his wife’s. “Would you still love me even if I wasn’t Captain America?” he asks quietly.

Natasha blinks, and she sighs as she adjusts herself so she is facing Steve, and both her hands are cupping his face. “I would love you even if you were still that scrawny little kid in Brooklyn.” she tells him softly.

Steve sighs shakily, as Natasha pulls away slightly, his eyes wide and blue and glistening with tears. Natasha brushes her thumbs under his eyes gently, as he presses a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. Steve squeezes her waist, pulling her closer to him, and he sighs.

“There was...there was a woman, a mutant,” he starts quietly, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath just as Natasha brushes her thumbs soothingly on his cheeks. He opens his eyes again, meeting his wife’s eyes. “Psylocke, she...she calls herself Psylocke, a powerful mutant under Hydra. She controls minds, a powerful telepath, too, since...since she can do mental projections, manipulate memories and minds. She caught me...while she disabled the others, and...I couldn’t fight her, Nat, I...” He shakes his head as he sighs. “I was weak against her.”

Steve purses his lips and he sighs. “I don’t know how the others got out, but for some reason, she chose me as her captive. She didn’t...didn’t hurt me or touch me but she poked around with my mind,” he says quietly. “I thought I could take it, let my mind be strong enough to resist her powers but...it was too much, Nat...she was too much.”

Natasha’s bottom lip quivers, because she  _ knows _ how it felt like to have your mind be manipulated and poked around. Terrible, terrifying and daunting wouldn’t even begin to describe the experience of it all. But she takes a deep breath, giving her husband an encouraging nod to continue. “She read through my memories, dug through what I had of...of you, and of James and Sarah.”

_ “How would Captain America feel once he finds out that his family turned to dust because of his utter stubbornness and pride?” _

“She manipulated my memories, projected...” He can’t even say it. He can’t even say it without remembering what she had projected in his mind. “You and the kids dead, and...” His voice breaks, and Natasha wipes off the tears falling from his eyes gently. “And it felt real, Nat, and I thought it was  _ becoming _ real because she made me...she made me touch your face, and lifeless hand, and…” He pauses to take a deep shaky breath, unable to continue or begin to describe what he had seen and felt in Psylocke’s mental projections. “It felt real, especially when Tony reported the Tower attack through the comms. Rhodey flew out to defend the Tower, and...he told me the men were looking to harm you and the kids.”

_ “You think my threats were empty, Captain?” _ He had hoped so, but he had hoped wrong.

Natasha takes a shaky breath, remembering the events of the whole day: the physical, mental and emotional exhaustion of running, fighting and comforting her children against the infiltrated danger inside their own home. She had left the kids with Wanda, who had brought the kids to the garden so they can play, when she received a call from Maria’s office. When she got there, Maria claimed that she wasn’t calling for her, which, now as she puts the pieces together from Steve’s initial recount, made sense that Maria’s “call” had been a telepathic manipulation made by the powerful mutant as a ploy to separate her from her kids, as the plan was to attack them at their weakest and most vulnerable. They heard screaming and gunshots, and when she and Maria started running down the hall and outside to Wanda and the kids, the place was already infiltrated by Hydra agents, who had also been “called” by Psylocke as she continued to distract and manipulate Steve’s mind.

Wanda had saved the kids, creating a dome protecting them from the bullets and the noise as she moves them inside the Tower and back to their floor. The agents had caught up and shot Wanda’s leg, breaking the dome just in time that Natasha and Maria found them. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had gathered around them, along with Sam and Bucky who had found them too. Sarah was shaking and crying, and James tried to hide his fear as he hid behind his mother’s legs while Natasha held Sarah close to her.

The attacks eventually died down, and the agents were arrested four hours before the team’s return.

Steve sees Natasha tense, and he sighs shakily as he lifts his hands to cup her face. “D-did they hurt you? You and the kids...did they...” he trails off, as Natasha swallows and shakes her head.

“No, no, they didn’t. They...we were...” Natasha takes a deep breath, fighting to even her breaths and calm her heart. She’s not a stranger to danger, and on the contrary, she greets danger as an old friend. But when the target of danger shifts to her kids other than her? She was no less than  _ horrified. _ “Wanda helped them, and she, along with Sam, Bucky and Maria went to our aid. Sharon and the rest of the agents took the others out pretty quickly, so...it was fine. The kids are fine, and we’re fine.”

They’re  _ technically _ not. Wanda had to manipulate both James’ and Sarah’s minds into forgetting about the gunshots and seeing their Auntie Wanda injured so as to not traumatize both children. When she asked Wanda what they could remember from the incident, she told them that they could only remember being chased by “bad men”, as well as the feeling of fear from the incident still fresh and existing, but relatively lower and less traumatizing.

All of this because Steve, of course, refused to surrender.

“They killed her,” Steve continues, and Natasha blinks in confusion. “Psylocke...she’s dead and gone. Clint shot an arrow through her heart but...even then, it was too late.” Steve sighs. “The memories, the images, all of it...it’s in my head, and...and it’s all I can see.”

Even as he looks at her green eyes looking at him with love, concern and understanding, he can never remove the image of her lifeless and dull eyes Psylocke had implanted in his mind.

“All of it because I refused to surrender…” Steve’s voice breaks as he shakes his head. “And it’s  _ fucking _ petty and small, but it’d been a  _ huge _ deal for them that they did  _ all _ of this just to make me turn against my team and be a part of theirs. They did a  _ whole _ length of tearing me apart inside and out, even did the  _ lengths _ to hurt you and the kids, and it’s all because I refused to surrender.” His voice is rising, as he takes deeper and quicker breaths, feeling his frustration rising up again. “All because they wanted  _ me, _ they wanted Captain America, and they wanted  _ me _ down and destroyed.”

“Steve…”

“And the first thing they do is try to destroy my family, and use it against me like it’s my fault, and…” His voice breaks as he chokes out a sob, and Natasha rests her forehead against his, and he sighs shakily. “It’s my fault...if you guys had been hurt, or had died, it’s on me, because they wanted  _ me, _ and I didn’t...I didn’t give myself.”

“Steve, don’t say that, please.”

“I almost got you and the kids  _ killed, _ Nat,” Steve sobs softly, and Natasha shakes her head, closing her eyes as she feels her heart aching, her chest constricting, frustration rising slowly in her chest. “I’m a danger even to my  _ own _ family.”

“No, Steve,  _ please,” _ Natasha pleads silently, because this conversation can go in three ways, none of it she  _ likes _ to have a conversation with her husband. So she is  _ not _ having this conversation with him, and she refuses to let him believe that his life can only go in one of those three ways. “You’re not, you’re...you’re not a danger to this family.”

“Didn’t you hear me, Nat?” Steve asks, his eyebrows furrowing as he frowns, pulling away as Natasha shakes her head and sighs, tears fill her eyes. Steve cups her face as his thumbs brush her cheeks gently. “You guys could’ve  _ died, _ you could’ve been  _ dead _ by the time I got here, and I would’ve lost my mind if you ever did.”

“But we’re  _ here, _ Steve, we’re here, and we’re alive,” Natasha convinces him. “And you’re here, and alive, and  _ nothing _ has to change, Steve,  _ nothing _ has to change.”

“One thing has to change, Nat,  _ one _ thing has to change, and I have to do it if I want to protect you and the kids,” Steve says, his voice rising slightly as his eyes widen, as if  _ pleading _ for his wife to understand his side, to understand what he wants to do. “And as much as you’re gonna try to convince me that you’re here to defend the kids too, Nat, it’s  _ my _ responsibility as your husband and as the father of our kids to protect my family. I can’t lose you, Nat, I...I can’t do that.”

He pauses, and his bottom lip quivers as he ducks his head, taking her hands on his face in his, and giving it a light squeeze. “Psylocke made me imagine a life without you, and...and I couldn’t do it, Nat. I can’t imagine living a life without you and the kids.” he tells her softly.

Natasha sighs shakily as a tear slips from her eyes, but she stays silent and waiting, patient as Steve gathers up the courage to tell him what’s been running in his mind. “I can’t live without you, but I  _ can _ live a life without the shield,” he says quietly, and Natasha purses her lips, the corners of his lips quirking down. He gives her a small smile. “Would you still love me if I tell you I’m not gonna be Captain America anymore?”

If she were to say his proposition didn’t catch her, then she would be lying.

It was tempting, of course, to say yes a million times over, convince him to pass the shield down so she could also retire as a superhero, so they can live their lives as normal full-time parents living in a suburban house who have normal jobs and lives. She’d be lying if she were to say she hadn’t thought of it—the luxury of normalcy, something that’s not  _ really _ a luxury, but it is for them. She wanted to say yes,  _ God, _ of course, she’d be crazy not to say yes.

But then she thinks of James, of how he looks up to his father as his hero and protector, symbolized by both his shield and his fatherhood to him. She thinks of the thousands of people who also look up to him, who rely on him to feel safe and protected. She knows his priority is to protect his family, of course, because it’s  _ her _ priority as well, but she also has to think of the people, those whom they save and those whom they serve. 

What would they say when they find out that Captain America, their symbol of independence, heroism and bravery, will step down because a shadow had finally caught up to him?

She looks into Steve’s eyes, and while he says his question so convincingly, so urgently and pleadingly, she sees his eyes tell a different story, conveying a far more different emotion than what he so tried to convey to her.

“You know I will, Steve,” she responds softly, and she gives him a small smile. “But would  _ you _ love yourself if you decide you wouldn’t be Captain America anymore?”

Because she also knows how much being a hero means to him. It’s beyond the fame, the luxury of recognition and privilege. It’s also helping other people, saving them and protecting them from harm and danger, even at the expense of their own safety. Of course she knows the lengths he had gone through as a young adult to get to where he is now, all because he just wanted to help and serve. She knows his heart, and she knows he means well when he says his only desire is to protect his family, but she also knows that the desire to protect and his desire to protect his family are not independent at all. He’s not the type to choose one over the other, especially when it comes to protecting and saving. Sure, he’ll save  _ them _ first, and then the people, but that was the point, wasn’t it? That he’ll still protect the people even after he’ll protect them.

Because that’s just who Steve Rogers is—a man who has a big heart with a huge enough space for both his family and the rest of the world. 

“I wouldn’t if it meant putting you in danger,” he tells her, frowning slightly as he looks at his wife. “I would never forgive myself if  _ anything _ happens to you because of who I am.”

“I know that, babe,” Natasha tells him softly. “And I also know how much you want so much to protect us, Steve, you know I do, and I love you for that,  _ we _ love you for that.” She smiles as she brings her hands up to his face again. “We’ll love you for whatever you decide to do or decide to become, so as long as it’s for the family. But let me ask you the question again.” She pauses, and he looks at her with wide blue eyes that remind her  _ so _ much of their son. “Would you love you if you decide you wouldn’t be Captain America anymore?”

Steve blinks and sighs.  _ Is it too selfish if I think that my answer is “no”? _

“It’s not selfish if you say no,” Natasha assures him with a smirk, as if hearing his own response out loud even if it had only been a silent thought. “Because I know your heart, Steve, and I know all you’ve ever wanted to do is to help people and protect them, you  _ have _ since you were a child. You’ve been doing it still, so beautifully even until now,  _ especially _ now with me, and with Jamie and Sarah.”

She smiles, her thumbs brushing on his cheeks lovingly. “You’ve worked your whole life to become who you are as Captain America, and I know at some point, you have to stop, but I don’t think this is the point yet,” she tells him softly. “I don’t think this is where you’re meant to end yet. And I don’t think you do either.”

He doesn’t, but he figures that if the universe were to give him any sign for him to stop and retire, it would be this—this mission that led to an almost assassination of the Rogers family, where he was  _ so _ close to losing his wife and his children (He knows “losing his wife” is something he shouldn’t really worry about because Natasha is more than capable of protecting herself, but he couldn’t help it. She was  _ as _ close to being hurt just as their children had been.). He figures he had been left no other choice  _ but _ to choose to step down.

“How do I know if it’s the end?” he asks her quietly. “If this isn’t the end, if...if this isn’t the universe telling me to stop, then how will I know when to stop?”

Natasha just smiles at him. “When you hear your heart telling you to stop, then that’s when,” she tells him. “And when you feel that you’ve completed all your missions, that you’ve done your job...that’s when.” She runs her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp soothingly so he sighs and closes his eyes, visibly relaxing under her touch. “It doesn’t end when the world is completely safe, because we know it never will...but it will end when you voluntarily, and wholeheartedly feel that it’s the rightest thing to do, and not because you feel like you’re running out of options, and it’s the only thing you can decide to do.”

_ Not because you feel like you’re running out of options, and it’s the only thing you can decide to do. _

Steve opens his eyes, and he blinks several times, as if thinking and digesting everything Natasha is saying. She smiles and rests her forehead against his. “Tell you what,” she says softly, and he looks right at her eyes again. “How ‘bout we get a break? A short break, like a vacation, where it’s just the four of us. I think it’s something you need...something  _ we _ need. It would give you time to rest, and time to think more clearly too.”

Steve sighs as he nods. Maybe it  _ is _ what he needs—a time away to be with his family. Maybe he’ll have a moment of clarity there, a moment where he’ll be free from all the emotions stirred in him from this last mission and by the incident his family had gone through too.

He pulls away from her slightly, and gives his wife a small smile. “Sometimes I wonder what I’d do without you, you know?” he tells her softly, and Natasha giggles, shaking her head.

“You wouldn’t have to,” Natasha says softly, rubbing her nose against his, and he chuckles as she presses a chaste kiss on his lips. “You will always have me.”

Steve hums, giving her a kiss as he pulls her close. “Thank you, Nat,” he says against her mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Steve.” she replies, and she feels her heart flutter when she feels him smile against her mouth.

They turn in not long after, going back to their bed where their children would be spending the night with them. Steve carefully transfers Sarah to sleep on his chest, as Natasha cuddles James close to her, and the seven-year-old buries his face in the crook of his mother’s neck. Steve presses soft kisses on his children’s head, as Natasha inches James and her closer to him, her one arm draping over their son and resting on Steve’s hand on Sarah’s small back.

They sleep peacefully that evening, the four of them, with Steve feeling his daughter’s heartbeat against his chest, hearing his son’s soft snores beside him and his wife, and the feel of Natasha’s hand holding his. He is assured well enough that the images still flashing in his mind are not real, and that the voices threatening to harm his family are gone and empty now. He is assured, as he inches himself closer to his family, pulling them tight together, that tomorrow will be a new day, a better day for them, and while the shadows of fear and danger will lurk around them—him, most especially—he won’t let it defeat him, as he won’t let it defeat the people he loves, and the people he tries to protect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really think angst can't be in my range, or it's something I still need to work on, since I just end up making angsty settings fluffy ;( but anyway, reviews, comments and kudos appreciated! Don't forget to check on my other works too!


	36. Five Christmases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 36\. The five Christmases they spent together, and the one time they didn't.
> 
> "There were so many things he wanted to say, over the past five Christmases, so many things he wanted to say, but didn’t get to, because he thought he’d always have the time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAYY here comes the Christmas fics I promised! They're sort of gonna be like a countdown until Christmas (an inconsistent countdown, but a countdown on how near it is nonetheless), so I hope you stay tuned until the 24th/25th! Enjoy!

_ 2018 _

When Natasha arrives back in the Tower that evening, she sees him sitting by the curb outside. He sees her too, and he stands from the curb he’s sitting as she approaches him, tucking her hands inside of her coat. She smiles when she reaches him.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks him, and he gives her a small smile, raising the paper bag in his hand.

“Christmas dinner? Just you and me?” he asks, and she chuckles softly, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “I can make a pretty mean Christmas steak for two.” He lifts his other hand carrying a plastic bag. “And I brought wine too.”

Natasha smiles and nods. “Well, come on in.” she tells him, nodding as she walks over to the entrance of the facility, just as Steve follows her closely behind.

The facility feels lonely, of course, and it always has been ever since the Snap, because the  _ world _ had practically become emptier and lonelier with half of the population gone. But, Steve figures, at least in the streets of New York, people still made an effort to put out the Christmas vibes by decorating and singing Christmas carols. People still sell treats and goods near Rockefeller Center, and artists (who survived, of course) still booked their gigs and events for a Christmas special in Radio City Music Hall. Even when half of the population is gone, people still made an effort to move on, to be happy at least for Christmastime. 

Being inside the facility felt like it’s miles off from Manhattan.

They reach the elevator, and Natasha seems to sense what Steve is thinking, as he looks around the facility. She ducks her head just as the elevator door closes and Natasha presses the button to her floor. “I didn’t feel like decorating.” she says quietly.

“Do you at least have a Christmas tree?” he asks, and she snorts, rolling her eyes as she huffs out a chuckle.

“Why, do  _ you?” _ she asks, and Steve falls silent. “Doesn’t feel like Christmas at all.”

“If I wasn’t here, you would be spending it alone?” he asks softly, and she sighs, looking up at the elevator ceiling.

“I was planning on sleeping in,” she corrects him quietly. “But this is better, I suppose.” She shrugs, looking up at him with a smirk, and he chuckles.

“Glad to know I didn’t ruin your Christmas plans.” he tells her with a small smile, and she grins.

Her floor is empty too, and Steve feels his chest constricting, his heart weighing down at the blandness and plainness of it all—the fact that Natasha, his best friend and partner, wasn’t  _ at all _ planning to celebrate Christmas, and if she ever was planning to celebrate it, she was going to celebrate it alone.

But then again, if he didn’t go here,  _ he _ was going to spend Christmas alone too.

“Got a date for Christmas?” she asks, once he settles the bags he was carrying on her dining table. He chuckles, and shakes his head.

“Don’t have a date  _ at all,” _ he tells her, and she hums taking his coat as he removes it. “I’m assuming you don’t, either?”

“Don’t think we’d both be here if we had.”

Steve moves around the kitchen, just as Natasha turns the heater inside her floor up, and prepares the plates, utensils and glasses they’ll be using for dinner. Natasha asks him about the support group he was leading, about the members and their stories, those who have a hard time dealing with their grief after the Snap.

“There are more people coming in everyday,” he tells her, just as he prepares the slab of meat on a chopping board, and Natasha hops on the counter, opening a bag of chips she procured from the cupboard. “You should come too, you know. So you’d at least see the sunlight during the daytime.”

Natasha scoffs, and Steve smirks. “I  _ do _ go out, for your information,” she says, and Steve chuckles. “You just happen to catch me indoors every time you’d drop by.”

Steve asks her about the orphanage she runs too, and she tells him about the kids she takes care of, and the support she gets from the U.S. government since Rhodey took a seat in the senate when they had to do a reelection because nearly all of their current governors were dusted away. She tells him of the growing facilities, the growing number of volunteers, teachers and workers the orphanages she oversees have, and the growing number of kids coming in.

“There’s a lot more than we initially thought,” Natasha admits softly. “The number of kids left without  _ any _ member of the family at all, not even an older sister or brother, or aunt or uncle, or...or anyone.” She sighs, and Steve looks up at her as he puts the slab of meat he just seasoned in the oven, and he turns the stove on. “But at least they’re being looked after, you know...the kids.”

Steve nods. “And the people who lost people too, they’re being looked after.” he says quietly, as he thinks back on the members he has in his support group.

Natasha’s jaw clenches slightly, and she puts the bag of chips down, gripping the edge of the counter. “Who looks after us?” she asks softly, and Steve sighs, his heart breaking when he sees tears filling her eyes. Natasha’s never one to cry,  _ never _ one to show emotions, not even in front of him, and he’d like to think he’d been the closest friend she has apart from Clint. Seeing her so tired, so  _ sad, _ and broken, on Christmas Eve...it kills him.

“Each other,” he replies, and Natasha looks up at him, quickly wiping away the tears from her eyes with her hand. Steve gives her a small smile. “We look after each other, take care of each other, cook meals for each other.”

Natasha huffs out a chuckle. “Only on Christmas Eve?” she asks weakly, and Steve chuckles, shaking his head.

“Everyday,” he tells her, and she gives him a small smile. “We look after each other everyday, but  _ especially _ on Christmas Eve.” Natasha laughs softly, and Steve smiles.

“Is that a promise, Rogers?” she asks, and Steve laughs softly, shrugging.

“If you like.” he says, and she smiles, nudging the bag of chips over to Steve, and he takes it, smiling as he grabs a handful and eats it.

* * *

_ 2019 _

Natasha stops in her skates as she looks back and lets out a loud laugh. She holds out a hand just as Steve slowly tries to get his bearings as he skates towards Natasha. He takes her hand, and she grins as she skates slowly, dragging Steve with her. He holds on to her hand tightly, and she laughs loudly that he has to look up and smile at her.

He hasn’t heard her laugh like that in a long time.

“Who would’ve known Captain America was such a bad ice skater?” she teases, and Steve huffs out a laugh and a grin as he continues to look down at his skates.

“I spent years trapped  _ inside _ the ice. There’s not much room for skating inside there.” he replies, smirking, as Natasha snorts and smirks.

“Whatever, smartass,” she says, and she lets go of his hand, as Steve groans and calls for Natasha’s name, and she laughs as she stops in front of him. “It was  _ your _ idea we spend Christmas Eve in Rockefeller. I was perfectly fine snuggled under the blanket at your place.”

“I didn’t  _ say _ we should ice skate in Rockefeller, this was your idea.” he points out, as he slowly moves towards where Natasha is, who is slowly skating backwards gracefully as she smiles, tucking her gloved hands inside her coat pockets.

“What’s Christmas in Rockefeller without ice skating, though?” she asks, grinning, and Steve chuckles.

“See, you like it.”

“And  _ you _ don’t.”

“And you’re just smug,” he says, and Natasha chuckles. Steve groans and stops as he frowns slightly, extending his arms out to Natasha. “I give up.”

Natasha laughs softly as she skates towards Steve, taking his gloved hands in hers. Steve smiles as she grins up at him, and she slowly skates backwards so Steve can skate forward. He looks down at their feet again, but Natasha lets go of one of his hands to use it to tip his chin so he can look at her.

And thank  _ God _ he did.

“Just look at me, Steve,” Natasha says softly, smiling up at him. “Don’t look down.”

Her cheeks are flushed, rosy as well as her nose, because of the cold weather and temperature. Her green eyes are wide and sparkling as she looks at him. She is smiling, and her smile is beautiful and rare, that he finds himself promising to himself that he will do everything he can to make that smile appear on her face not just on Christmas Eve but everyday, every time he would visit, and every time he would see her. He smiles at her, and his smile might have come off as sheepish and shy, because she giggles softly, and her giggle makes her heart flutter, because of how melodious and joyous it sounds.

He thinks it may be one of the most beautiful sounds he has ever heard in his life.

Some of her red hair is peeking out from her navy blue bonnet as she moves, that he fights the urge to let go of one of her hands to brush off that hair from her face, for fear that he might slip and lose his balance if he lets go of her.

So he holds on, as if she was his lifeline, as if she was his anchor, and she is. She always is.

“Are you getting the hang of it?” she asks.

Truth be told, Steve is,  _ slowly _ is, getting the grips of ice skating and maintaining his balance on the ice. He can let go of her and not fall, because he thinks he can carry his own weight now and skate alongside her, though not in the same speed and grace as her, but he thinks he can keep up with her nonetheless. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to let go of her, nor abandon the feel of her hand in his, and the smile that he sees in front of him.

“No, not yet,” he tells her, smiling. “Just a little more.”

“If this is an excuse to just hold my hand, then I swear to God, Rogers…” she trails off, chuckling and grinning, and Steve laughs softly.

“Come on, you like it.” he tells her, and she laughs. She lets go of one of his hands, but still holds on to one, as she moves so they are side by side with each other, holding hands, as they get their joint pace of skating together. Steve looks at her, and she smiles up at him.

“I didn’t say I didn’t.”

* * *

_ 2020 _

Steve takes her gloved hand in his as she looks at the church they’re walking into. She looks up at him and smiles when he squeezes her hand in his, and he gives her a reassuring smile.

For this particular Christmas, they decided to go and redo Steve’s Christmas traditions he used to do with his mother when she was still alive before the war, before he became Captain America, and since he was raised as a Catholic, one of those traditions is to go to evening mass. Natasha had been hesitant, initially planning to bail and to wait for him so they can still have dinner, instead of going with him inside the Church, and actually  _ hearing _ mass with him.

_ She’s not Catholic, _ she reasons, but it’s really not the only reason she had in mind.  _ She has red in her ledger. She was a killer, who had failed half of the universe and made the other half suffer the consequences of her inadequacy as a so-called hero—who was she to face a God who was known to be good and loving to His creation, when she killed and failed them all? _

But Steve knows it all, even without her telling him. So he gently persuaded her into coming, and into accompanying him. “It would mean a lot to me if you’d come,” he told her softly, just when she allowed him to wrap her scarf around her neck and put her bonnet on her head. “I want you to be part of the service too.”

She was hesitant, still. “I don’t know how that works,” she told him, even as she was already dressed and ready to leave. “I don’t know how masses and prayers and...churches work.”

“You don’t have to,” he told her, smiling. “You just have to be there with me and beside me.”

So here she is, beside him, and even as she feels nervous and anxious just going inside the church, she wills herself to relax, and focus on the feel of his warm hand holding hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze, as if telling her that she belongs here, that she belongs here with  _ him. _

She doesn’t really pay much attention to the service, and instead takes the time to watch the churchgoers, most of them elderly women and families. Even as the church was small, it was packed, and lucky for both her and Steve, they were able to get their seats on one of the pews by the aisle, because some were already standing outside near the entrance.

She’s not at all familiar either with the songs being sung, but as she looks up at Steve beside her, she can see tears slowly forming in his eyes as he sings softly along to the songs in the service. For her, it looked like tears of nostalgia, of sadness from the years that had long passed and of missing his old life, but she knew it to be beyond those too. She knew them to be tears of both gratefulness (because, according to the priest, Christmas is a season for being grateful) and guilt, for surviving the Snap, yet being unable to save the half of the universe who paid for their mistakes and inadequacy.

He felt the same way she was feeling, after all.

So she takes his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze, and he looks down at her, as he smiles, and squeezes her hand back. He doesn’t let go of her hand, and neither does she, even as they continue to stand and sit throughout the service, and even as they continue to sing songs she didn’t know. When people stood and lined up in the aisle, he didn’t stand up, instead looked down at their feet, so she doesn’t either.

They stand up, for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening, and Steve looks down at her and smiles. “It’s ending, I promise.” he says, giving her hand a light squeeze. She smiles and nods. It’s not like she  _ wants _ the evening to end, because the service in itself was interesting, especially perhaps from the perspective of a non-Catholic, but she  _ was _ getting hungry, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the ham and pudding they’ve already prepared, and are waiting for them in Natasha’s floor in the Tower.

The service ends when the priest greets them a Merry Christmas. Natasha turns to Steve who smiles and leans down to press a kiss on her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Nat,” he tells her softly, and she smiles, turning away quickly before he can see the blush she can feel that is already creeping up in her cheeks. She hears Steve chuckle as he gives her hand a light squeeze. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Merry Christmas, Steve.” she replies softly, smiling up at him, and he smiles that beautiful smile of his, one that didn’t leave his face, even as they both passed out that evening after their Christmas dinner, in the middle of their third Christmas movie.

* * *

_ 2021 _

“I said no gingerbread on the tree!”

Steve laughs as he looks behind, and finds Natasha in a red oversized sweater filled with reindeer prints with her arms crossed, fighting off the smirk forming on her mouth as she narrows her eyes at him from across the living room. Steve dangles the gingerbread decoration in front of him and pouts.

“But Mister Gingerbread Man needs a home.” he says softly, and Natasha huffs out a half-scoff and a chuckle, as she marches towards him and snatches the gingerbread decoration, just as Steve starts laughing loudly, his hand flying on his stomach as he bends to laugh hard, and Natasha watches him with a smirk on her face.

“If so-called _Mister Gingerbread_ _Man _will have a place on the tree,” she says, and she grabs a black-cat decoration from the box and dangles it in front of Steve. “Then we’ll hang this guy too.” She pouts as his eyes widen and he stops laughing. “Mister Cat needs a home too.”

“Don’t you  _ dare,” _ Steve says, and it’s Natasha’s turn to laugh. “Cats don’t even  _ belong _ on Christmas trees!”

“Neither do gingerbreads, Steve!” she exclaims, unable to keep the grin off her face, and Steve laughs as he shakes his head.

“Gingerbreads are Christmas treats, Nat, you can’t deny that,” he says, as a matter-of-factly, taking the gingerbread decoration from Natasha’s hand and hanging it on one of the branches of the tree, as Natasha gasps, and Steve smiles smugly at her. “Cats are not.”

“Cats are  _ friends!” _ she says, pouting, as she hangs up the cat decoration beside the gingerbread, and Steve gasps as well. “There. Now we’re even.”

“It’s an ugly Christmas tree now,” Steve says, shaking his head as he takes a few steps backward to regard it, his eyes narrowing as he rests his hands on his hips. “Christmas is officially ruined for me.”

Natasha pouts, and Steve becomes unable to fight off the smile forming on his mouth, as Natasha smirks. “You say that like your sweater’s  _ not _ ugly.” she says, and Steve grins.

“You made this sweater for me!” he tells her, and she laughs. “But yours is uglier.”

“And  _ you _ made this sweater for me!” she exclaims, holding out the sweater she is wearing as she grins widely, and Steve laughs loudly. “And we  _ were _ aiming for best ugly sweater, though.”

“Yeah, and your sweater is uglier.” Natasha gasps, and Steve chuckles, shaking his head as he looks at her.

“Steven, you can’t say  _ that _ to a woman, where are your manners?” she scolds exaggeratedly, and Steve begins laughing loudly. “Your mother would be rolling in her grave right now!”

Steve doesn’t say anything, instead walks up to Natasha and carries her, as Natasha squeals and begins laughing. “Put me down, Steve!” she exclaims, laughing, as Steve brings her to her kitchen. She laughs softly as he puts her to sit on the counter and he opens the fridge to retrieve two glasses of eggnogs he had prepared for both of them earlier that evening. She takes the one he offers her, and smiles as he closes the fridge and faces her.

“To ugly sweaters and ugly Christmas trees.” Steve says, raising his glass of eggnog, smiling at her as she giggles softly and nods, raising her glass of eggnog.

“To ugly sweaters and ugly Christmas trees,” she says, clinking their glasses together, as they both drink from their glasses. She puts hers down, and chuckles as she watches him finish his glass. She tilts her head and smiles when he puts his down. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

Steve smiles, leaning up to press a soft kiss on her cheek, like how he did the previous Christmas too. “Merry Christmas, Nat.” he tells her softly.

* * *

_ 2022 _

Steve gasps, and Natasha smiles as she watches his eyes sparkle in pure delight when he takes out what she got him for Christmas. “Nat, where did you get this?” he asks softly, as he lets go of the gift wrap and carefully runs his fingers on the framed picture she had given him. It’s a picture of his mother—Sarah Rogers, the  _ only _ photo there ever was that Steve had been raving on about how he never got to see it anymore since his things from his past home had been burned away.

Natasha smiles. “I pulled some strings,” she answers with a shrug, and then her smile fades slightly. “Do...do you like it?” she asks softly, almost shyly.

Steve looks back at her, and his smile grows wider (if it was  _ even _ possible). “Like it? Nat, I  _ love _ it. It’s the best Christmas give I can get, thank you,” he says, as he laughs softly, looking back at the photo of his mother. “God, I never thought...I never thought I can get it again. Thank you, Nat.”

He leans over towards her and presses a kiss on her cheek, and she chuckles softly, ducking her head when she feels her face growing warm as she’s sure that a blush had crept in her face already. She looks up at him again and smiles. “Merry Christmas, Steve.” she tells him softly.

Steve smiles, and he carefully puts the framed photo of his mother down on the floor, on top of the abandoned Christmas gift wrap it was wrapped with. He then stands from the floor, as Natasha follows with her eyes where he is going. He turns his stereo on, and he takes a vinyl to replace the one laid out on his player, as he carefully puts the one already  _ on _ there back to its proper case. Soft music starts to play, as he walks back to his spot.

Steve crouches down in front of Natasha and holds out his hand, as Natasha looks at him confusedly and blinks. “Dance with me?” he asks softly.

Natasha takes a few moments to blink, and she eventually smiles and nods, as she takes his hand, and he pulls her up. Their joined hands fold to hold each other, as he rests his other hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. Natasha smiles, her other hand resting on top of his heart, and she smiles as she can feel it beating against his chest, and under her touch.

“Someone’s been practicing.” Natasha teases softly, as they both sway to the beat, Steve holding her firmly yet somehow still gently against him as he leads her to the music. Steve chuckles softly and shakes his head.

_ “Somehow _ practicing,” he says. “The rest are all natural.” He winks, and Natasha laughs softly, shaking her head.

“Is there someone I should thank for the practice?” she asks, smirking, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Nah, nobody else,” he tells her, and she smiles. “So you could just imagine me dancing alone in my house with no partner, hm? Must look  _ really _ pathetic.” Natasha laughs and shakes her head.

“No, not really,” she tells him, tilting her head slightly to the side. “It’s kinda cute.”

“You’re cute.” he says, and Natasha laughs, resting her forehead against his chest, just as Steve laughs softly, his hand now resting on her waist as he continues to pull her close to him.

“Flirting on Christmas Eve, I like it,” she teases, looking up at him. “D’you practice that by yourself too?”

“Nah, just with you,” he says, twirling her, as she laughs when he pulls her back, laughing. “Guess I need a little more practice in that.”

“In catching? Yeah, a little more,” she tells him softly, smiling. “Maybe next year you’ll have it perfected.” Steve smiles down at her as they continue to sway to the music.

“D’you want  _ this _ for Christmas next year too?” he asks softly, and she hums and nods. “Then promise me, next year, you’ll be wearing this.”

Steve pulls away from her, as he pulls out a black rectangular box from his back pocket, and she smiles when he presents it to her. He opens it, revealing a silver-chain necklace with a white star as the pendant.

“It’s made of vibranium, by the way,” he tells her softly. “I asked Okoye to pull some strings too. Vibranium pendant, but silver chain, but I guess it’s still special.” Natasha laughs softly, as Steve takes the necklace out of the box, and puts the box down on the nearby table.

“Steve, it’s beautiful.” she breathes out, as she looks at it, and Steve smiles.

“Come on, turn around.” he tells her gently, and she does. Steve smiles as he rests the star pendant first on her chest, and he works his way in wrapping the chain around her neck and sealing it. He presses a soft kiss on her hair before adjusting it, as Natasha turns back around, her fingers holding the white star on her chest.

_ White star like the one on his shield, _ Natasha thinks, as she lets out a soft laugh.  _ Like how he will always be my shield. _

“Merry Christmas, Nat.” Steve tells her softly, and she looks up to find him smiling. She leans up to press a soft kiss on his cheek, just as she takes his hand in hers again, and one of his hands automatically rest on the small of her back again, pulling her close.

They spend the rest of Christmas Eve like that, just in each other’s arms, as they continue to sway to the music. Natasha’s eyes are closed as she rests her head on his chest, as Steve rests his on her head, his eyes closed and a content smile on his face. He pulls their joint hands together on his chest, as he presses a soft kiss on top of her head.

* * *

_ 2023 _

It’s weird, spending Christmas this year.

He watches from the corner of the room, everyone who had come back, and who had come together to celebrate Christmas altogether. Sam and Bucky are speaking with Rhodey, all of them have smiles on their faces as they continue to exchange words and stories. Wanda and Clint are talking, and he watches at how Wanda’s eyes seem to have gained at least a little bit of light as she smiles and chuckles at something Clint says. She seems to be okay now,  _ everyone _ seems to be fine now, even Pepper and Morgan, who are on the couch talking to Laura and the kids. Everyone seems to be satisfied, content,  _ happy _ this Christmas.

Except him.

Because no matter how many times he slept and woke up this morning, Natasha’s still not there beside him, sleeping in his arms like how she usually did for the last five Christmases. He still remembers the way she looked, so peaceful and so beautiful, so  _ young _ and happy, as he would just continue to watch her until she finally wakes up, only to bury her face further in his chest and groan at how early it is to get up on Christmas day.

No matter how long he watches the skating rink at Rockefeller, he will never see her calling for him and skating in front of him like how she did four Christmases ago. He still remembers her smile, the sound of her laughter, the way her hands fit in his as he continued to hold on to her even as he got his balance back. He never wanted to let go of her, and neither did she.

No matter how long he stays in the church for evening service, he will never see her sitting beside him, holding his hand like how she did three Christmases ago. He still remembers the feel of her cheek against his lips when he greeted her a Merry Christmas by the end of service, the way her cheeks tinted rose and the way she smiled when she greeted him back.

No matter how many times he would put up his Christmas tree at his own flat, and take out the gingerbread decoration, she wouldn’t ever be there to scold him for putting it on the tree like how she did two Christmases ago. He still remembers the ugly sweaters, the ones they wore the Christmas after that, and the way she smiled at him as they cheered for more ugly sweaters and ugly Christmas trees.

And no matter how many times he would stare at the photo of his mother beside his bed, she would never reappear in front of his bedroom and smile at him, because she was the one who gave him that present just last Christmas. He will never be able to dance to the music they danced to, nor can he ever tell her that he had perfected his catch, so she can twirl now and he would catch her without a problem. They would never get their dance anymore, like the one he promised her.

No matter how many times he would cry, and wish for Natasha to come back just so she can spend one last Christmas with him, she wasn’t coming back. She’s  _ never _ coming back, because she’s gone. Because she’s  _ really _ gone.

When she told him that she’ll see him in a minute, he should’ve told her everything right then and there, especially if he knew that the minute would last for an eternity.

Steve sighs as he closes his eyes, easing the pain and ache in his chest and willing his tears to stay put in his eyes. He’s not going to cry. He shouldn’t, because it’s Christmas, and Christmas should be a time to be grateful for the things you have, the people you have in your life, the  _ life _ you were blessed with. Christmas is supposed to be happy, and joyous, especially now that things are back to normal, that everyone is back and everyone is safe.

Well, not exactly everyone.

Steve feels his bottom lip quiver, as he ducks his head, and walks over to the balcony for some fresh air. There, he allows the tears to fall, and he lets out a choked sob as a cold wind passes, and he looks up at the dark sky filled with stars. There were so many things he wanted to say, over the past five Christmases,  _ so _ many things he wanted to say, but didn’t get to, because he thought he’d always have the time. He thought he would always have time whenever he was with her, and now that he doesn’t, now that the time had officially ran out, he wished he could’ve told her everything. He  _ should’ve _ told her everything.

So now, as he looks up at the Christmas Eve sky, he likes to think that Natasha is looking down and watching him. “Merry Christmas, Nat,” he whispers, and he lets out a soft whimper as more tears fall from his eyes. “Wish you were here.”

He doesn’t notice someone else slip beside him, and when he looks, he sees Pepper, giving him a small smile as tears also fill up her eyes. “Here to get some fresh air too?” she asks quietly, and he lets out a huffed chuckle, wiping the tears away from his eyes and cheeks.

“That, and other things.” he answers, looking away from Pepper. She nods, and stands beside him, as she looks up at the sky, the same way he did, and he wonders if she was also speaking to Tony too.

“Christmas isn’t the same,” she says softly, and Steve looks at her. Pepper’s eyes are closed as she tilts her head down and shakes her head. “No matter how many times you tell yourself it’ll be okay, that he’s in a happy place, Christmas won’t be the same without him, without them.”

Pepper looks at Steve, who nods as fresh tears begin to fill his eyes. He sighs shakily as he looks away, straight at the still and stagnant lake in front of them. “D’you think they’re celebrating Christmas up there too?” he asks quietly, and Pepper’s bottom lip wobbles as she sighs, and nods.

“I’d like to think so,” she says, wiping away the tears in her eyes as she clears her throat. “Tony’s probably nagging Nat right now of the Christmas tree designs, ‘cause she probably wouldn’t want a  _ super _ elaborate Christmas tree to celebrate with in heaven, but he does.” Pepper chuckles, and Steve laughs softly as he nods.

_ To ugly sweaters and ugly Christmas trees, _ she said it with a smile, as if “ugly” wasn’t too bad, because “ugly” was their brand that Christmas.

“Tony would be doing it on purpose then,” Steve says, and Pepper laughs softly, nodding. Steve takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. “How long, do you think?”

“How long what?” Pepper asks him softly.

“How long do you think it will take before we get used to it?” he asks quietly, looking at Pepper. “Before we get used to them not being here, especially on Christmas?”

Pepper swallows down her throat as she looks away. She takes a moment, before she sighs and looks back at Steve. “I don’t think we ever will,” she tells him softly. “But I don’t think they’d want us to get used to it either.”

Steve shakes his head. “So we just take a breather every Christmas, huh?” he teases weakly, and Pepper laughs softly.

“Maybe,” she answers, nodding. “Or maybe they’d want us to just...be grateful for them, you know.” Her voice breaks, and Steve feels his eyes stinging with tears once again. “Even if we got to spend...a short amount of time with them than we expected, a few number of Christmases than we’d wished for, we’d still be grateful because even in those times, they made us happy. And we made them happy too.”

He recalls her question five Christmases ago, when the promise of spending Christmas with each other was established:  _ Who’s gonna look after us? _ He remembers the rawness in her eyes, the sadness and brokenness that had ebbed and faded as the Christmases passed, as they spent more and more time together, and, as he’d like to think, they both fell deeper for each other.

_ Each other, _ he recalls himself telling her.  _ We look after each other everyday, but especially on Christmas Eve. _

They always did. Even if it was just for five Christmases, for  _ five _ years, they still did. It had been a short time, and he wished it had been longer, wished he’d said more and done more, and spent  _ more _ Christmases with her, but, he figured, those five Christmases had been perfect. He felt looked after,  _ loved, _ and happy when she was with him, and he’d like to think she had felt the same way.

Pepper is looking at him, as all these thoughts run in his head, and she gives him a small smile. “I'm a firm believer that Nat loved you, Steve,” she tells him softly, and Steve looks at Pepper. “And I'm also a firm believer in thinking that Nat wouldn't want you to spend Christmas mourning for her. She should've wanted you to be happy, to be _merry_ this Christmas.”

_ And I loved her too. But I didn't say it. _

Steve looks up at the sky once again, and he smiles when he watches a star twinkle brightly. She may not be with him anymore, not in a physical sense anyway, but he’d like to think she’s still looking after him even until now, and she wouldn’t want him to be crying,  _ no, _ especially not on Christmas, not on  _ their _ special holiday.

With that belief, he tells her the thing he should’ve told her past Christmases ago, because he’d like to think she’s listening, watching over him.  _ Merry Christmas, Nat,  _ he smiles,  _ I love you so much. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making it canon(-ish) in terms of Nat's death ;( i swear she lives in my heart and in my other fics. Anyway, kudos, comments, reviews super appreciated!
> 
> Also I published a new multi-chapter work called "Romanoff's Anatomy", so I hope you guys can check it out especially as I update!


	37. Four Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 37\. The four gifts Natasha had given Steve in Christmas, one of which he's not particularly fond of.
> 
> "“Second best Christmas gift ever.” She frowns slightly, pulling away back at him for a moment. “What’s the first one?” she asks, and he chuckles. “You.” he replies."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before everything else, I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who continues to support this work! I just realized 700+ kudos and more than 200 comments is absolutely INSANE and thank you thank you everyone for being there since day one! You guys continue to inspire me to write more and to come up with more ideas!
> 
> And in that light, I present to you the next installment for the Christmas countdown. Take this as an excuse for me just writing more fluffy mini oneshots for Steve and Nat. I think it's also worth noting that this universe is independent from the last one, so I hope you guys won't get confused if you've read Chapter 36. Hope you enjoy!

_ 2014 _

Natasha hums as Steve adjusts his tie and walks over in front of her, looking at her with wide eyes, as if saying,  _ Is this good enough? _ Natasha looks at him from top to bottom, a small smile playing on her lips as she nods.

“Looks great.” she comments, her eyes flicking back to his.

Steve sighs, putting his hands back to the side as he lifts his legs from side to side, adjusting to the new feel of a three-piece suit on his body. Natasha had come over just mere minutes ago when she called him, asking him what he was doing for Christmas afternoon, and when he answered that he didn’t have any plans at all, she showed up half an hour later practically shoving the suit in front of his face.

“You’re not dressed.” Steve points out, as he looks at Natasha dressed in only a pair of light-colored jeans, a white shirt and a brown leather jacket.

But he couldn’t, and he could  _ never _ deny the fact that even if she looked and dressed so casually like that, with her red wavy hair tied to a loose bun with two loose strands framing her face, she had always, always looked so beautiful that it does something to his heart.

“I don’t need to,” Natasha tells him, smirking, as if she knows what’s running in his mind. “I’m just here to bring you back and forth from where I want you to be.”

“Where you want me to be?” Steve asks, an amused smile playing on his lips as Natasha nods, and he chuckles. “And where exactly do you want me to be on Christmas day, Nat?”

Natasha smiles, and she walks over to Steve. “Call it a Christmas gift from me. I’ll be taking you somewhere where you’ll be happy, I suppose,” she answers softly, adjusting his tie and collars properly, and Steve watches her, relaxing under his touch. “Somewhere where you won’t be brooding your entire Christmas away.”

Steve scoffs. “I don’t brood.”

“What have you been doing before I called you?”

Steve pauses, and looks at Natasha sheepishly as she hums and smiles. She takes a step back and looks at Steve from head to toe. “You look good, soldier.” she says softly.

Steve smiles, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his slacks, and he ducks his head in a very  _ vain _ attempt to hide the blush forming on his face. “Now will you tell me where we’re going?” he asks, and Natasha hums.

“I think you’ll see,” she says, smiling widely that it makes Steve chuckle softly. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

Steve follows as Natasha opens the door, holding the door for him, and he steps outside. She closes his door behind her as she walks ahead, with Steve following behind her. He does his best to catch up beside her, and she pauses so they walk side by side with each other, their hands brushing against the other, as Natasha ducks to hide her smile, and Steve smiles as he looks over and see the smile on Natasha’s face.

They make it to Natasha’s corvette, as Steve rides shotgun and Natasha drives. Steve looks out at the window, and hums when he sees families walk along the sidewalks in and out of shops, children holding on to their parents’ hands and laughing and smiling as they point at random stuff on the window that could count as presents. He feels a pang in his chest, relatively weaker than that of before when he first came out of the ice, but it’s present nonetheless. The pang of pain is for the family he misses before he went down on the ice.

He misses Christmas with his mother, with Bucky...he misses not spending Christmas alone.

Natasha looks at him as she continues to drive. “There you go again, Rogers,” she says, and Steve looks back at her as she looks back at the road, a smirk playing on her lips. “Brooding, as usual.”

“I’m not brooding,” Steve says, and Natasha chuckles. “D’you have any Christmas traditions and shenanigans?”

“Well, when I joined S.H.I.E.L.D., I used to spend it with the Bartons,” she says, smiling as she looks at him. “I mean I still do. This year, I just took off early to get your suit right there.” She gestures over at the suit Steve is wearing, and he frowns slightly.

“Why?” he asks, and Natasha parks the car on the curb, and Steve looks up at the building where she parked, and he feels his heart skip a beat, as the corners of his mouth slowly quirk downward.

It’s Peggy’s retirement home.

“Nat…” Steve trails off, but Natasha had already closed the door on her side of the car, and Steve looks up and gets out once Natasha opens his door for him. He steps out as Natasha closes the door, and she smiles as he sighs. “What are we doing here?”

Natasha nods. “You’ll see. Trust me.” she says, smirking as he sighs. She walks up the steps to the retirement home, and he follows inside.

The hall is decorated—there’s a huge Christmas tree, of course, and the ceilings are decorated with Christmas socks and candy canes. It’s simple, but somehow beautiful and calming. Natasha goes up to the secretary in the lobby, as Steve stays in front of the entrance. They speak in low voices, and the secretary looks up at him, and smiles as she nods. She says something to Natasha, before getting up from her desk and walking down the hall. Natasha nods and smiles, before turning back to him.

“You ready for your Christmas gift, soldier?” she asks, and Steve blinks, because he doesn’t honestly know what to expect, nor what Natasha actually has up her sleeve.

The secretary appears on the lobby again and smiles. “She’s ready, Miss Romanoff, Captain Rogers.” she announces, and Natasha looks up at Steve and smiles.

“Let’s go, soldier.” Natasha says, winking, as she follows the secretary, and Steve follows Natasha. They walk down the hall, and Steve sees the secretary holding a bouquet of flowers as she stands beside a room. She hands Steve the bouquet, and she smiles.

“She loves those flowers. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it, especially coming from you.” she says. Steve takes it, as if automatically and extremely confused, as Natasha pushes the door open.

Steve hears a soft gasp as Natasha enters the room, and Steve just stays put beside the secretary, holding the bouquet of flowers near his chest, unsure of what to do or where to go. “Natalia, Merry Christmas.”

“Agent Carter, Merry Christmas,” Steve hears Natasha say softly. “I promised you I’ll get you a dance for Christmas, didn’t I? I promised him the same too.”

Steve pauses at that, feeling his heart ache a little but still feeling his heart flutter inside his chest. _The_ _ dance. A dance he promised to give her. _

The secretary nods at him, and he walks in the room. He sees Natasha look up and smile, and he sees Peggy, in a nice blue dress, her hair, although all grey and white, curled neatly framing her face. She gasps lightly when she sees him, as tears welled up her hazel brown eyes, and he laughs softly, feeling tears welling up in his as well.

“Steve.” she whispers, and Steve smiles at her. Natasha slowly guides Peggy to stand up, and the older woman’s eyes don’t leave his as Steve catches her hands in his. Her hands are soft, her skin wrinkly, but otherwise, at the first touch, he immediately knows it’s  _ his _ Peggy he’s holding, her hands somehow familiar in his, like he had been dreaming about it before. “Steve, you came.”

Steve smiles, and he feels Natasha take the bouquet of flowers from his hands so he can hold Peggy properly in position, his one hand resting on her back, as his other holds her hand. “Well, I  _ did _ promise my best girl a dance,” he responds softly, and Peggy laughs softly, as a tear slips from her face. He hears soft music fading in the background, and in his peripherals, he sees Natasha turn the stereo on. “When better time than Christmas, am I right?”

Peggy laughs softly, as she rests her head on his chest, and he sways them both gently and slowly. He rests his cheek on her head, as he closes his eyes, feeling the music take them as if they were in the ‘40s, and Peggy is still this young woman who had captured his heart the first time he laid his eyes on her. He leads them into a gentle sway, because even if it isn’t the dance he promised her all those decades ago, he figures this was enough. This was what was meant for them.

She lived his life, and now he’s living his, and it’s all he can ever ask for.

“Steve,” Peggy calls softly, and Steve hums, pulling away slightly so he can take a better look at her. They continue swaying against the slow music, and she smiles up at him. “You take good care of Natalia, hm? And promise me after this dance you will take her next, and spend the rest of your life dancing with her.”

Steve blinks his eyes, and Peggy lets out a soft laugh. “Look at you,” she laughs gently. “After all this time, you still don’t know a damn thing about women.”

“Peg, I...Nat, we’re not...she’s…” Steve trails off, and his eyes flicker over to Natasha, who is now speaking with the secretary softly in the corner of the room. He watches the way she smiles when she speaks, the way her nose wrinkles when she laughs, and the way her bright green eyes shine even as they’re probably talking about the most mundane things about Christmas. He likes that about her, the way her simple moves, the simple things about her immediately put a smile on his face.

Peggy hums, smiling. “You were saying?” she asks, and Steve sighs, blushing as he smiles sheepishly at her. “That girl has been through many, and I know because she’s visited me so many times before to get to know me. Apparently, she did it to ask me  _ this _ favor.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “I think she deserves a little bit of life and love for her. And I think you’ve got a lot of that for her.”

“Peg.” Steve says softly.

“And believe me when I say she has a lot of love for you too,” she says, and her smile widens. “I don’t believe she would’ve gone this far to make this happen if it weren’t for you and your  _ brooding.” _

This time, Steve chuckles softly. “I don’t brood, Peg.” he says, but Peggy just hums softly.

“Do me a favor? Live your life with her?” she asks quietly, smiling, and Steve sighs. “Follow your heart if it’s what’s telling you to do, and by the looks of it,  _ she _ is what your heart is telling you.” Steve looks down at her. “It’s your turn to live a life now, because I have lived mine. It’s time you live the life you deserve.”

_ A life he deserves. _ Steve’s eyes move back to look at Natasha, and his mouth immediately turns into a smile when he sees her looking right at him with a smile, that  _ beautiful _ smile of hers that always makes his heart flutter and skip a beat. The smile that  _ always _ puts a smile on his face.

The one that he finds himself so ultimately captivated with it’s almost insane.

“I promise.” Steve responds softly, smiling back at Natasha, before looking back down at Peggy, who has a knowing glint in her brown eyes before she hums and nods, resting her head back on his chest as they continue to sway gently to the soft music.

* * *

_ 2015 _

“Open it, open it!” Natasha is practically squealing in excitement beside him as Steve chuckles, ripping away the gift wrapper from the present she had given him. He wanted to tear the wrap away carefully and meticulously, because he had witnessed how she had put an effort in gift-wrapping all the gifts she bought for their teammates, so he figured she also put the same amount of effort in wrapping her gift for him.

“Rip it and open it, Steve!” she laughed, so now he’s just ripping the wrapper away because her excitement for him to open her gift for him is now practically spilling over to him.

Steve grins widely when he sees a set of compressed charcoal pencils underneath the Christmas wrapper. He laughs lightly, feeling his heart flutter lightly in his chest. He’s always told Natasha about wanting to own a set of compressed charcoal from General Pencil since he’s heard of reviews of it being the best ones in terms of creating more intricate details on his drawings and arts. He’d rambled on to her about this, because for some reason, every time he’d try to find one so he can buy for himself, they would always run out of stock as it’s rare nowadays for people to buy these kinds of things since they prefer to do digital art now.

“Nat, oh my God,” Steve breathes, laughing softly, as he runs his hand over the set. “Oh my God, where did you  _ find _ this?” He looks up at her and she grins widely.

“Had to pull some strings here and there,” she replies with a wink, and Steve laughs softly. “Got that so the next time you’ll draw me you’ll get my hair right.”

Steve laughs. He found out that she knows that she’s been one of his favorite artistic muse when he found her one time sitting in the communal room going through his sketchbook filled with portraits of the team, but mostly of her. He had been embarrassed, of course, because not only did it reveal his secret love for drawing and of the arts, but it also somehow revealed how he sees her, and more so how he  _ feels _ for her, shown and showcased through the detailed and beautiful drawings he has of her.

“Is this how you see me?” she had asked him, after a few moments of silence where she’s just flipping through the pages of his sketchbook.

“Well, yeah,” he answered almost shyly, and she looked up at him, an eyebrow raised amusingly. “It’s...it doesn’t do justice though. I could never capture well how you look ‘cause I only use a pencil.”

Natasha hummed at that. “And what will you need so you can capture how I look fully and perfectly, and the way you want it?” she asked, and he almost choked at  _ nothing _ at her question, because there’s no amount of art materials or skills he can acquire so he can capture  _ her _ so perfectly in drawings. She will always be more beautiful every time he would lay his eyes on her, and would always grow more beautifully as the days pass.

“Charcoal pencils,” he answered instead. “The good ones, to at least get the details of your hair right.” She laughed loudly at that, and he blushed furiously as he looked sheepishly at her. “D’you like ‘em?”

And the smile she gave him that day had been rewarding. “They’re beautiful, Steve.” she said.  _ And so are you, _ he wanted to say.

She helped him look for them, specifically the charcoal pencils from General Pencil, and he initially thought it was only so she can watch him squirm and blush every time she would bring up the fact that he has a whole collection of art dedicated to her. But they couldn’t find any, not even at every art store they went to around New York. By the end, Steve had been disappointed, of course, but it didn’t stop him from drawing and making art. The only difference this time is that she’s more aware of it, so his drawings of her would consist of her smiling more because she just  _ knows _ that he’s watching and drawing her, and she  _ likes _ the attention being put on her.

It was only a few weeks ago he found out she had been smiling for different reasons.

“You know I can never draw your hair perfectly,” Steve says softly, leaning in to press a kiss on her jaw, and she giggles, closing her eyes and scrunching her nose. “I can never draw  _ that _ much amount of beauty.”

“Such a sap.” Natasha laughs softly, adjusting her head to press a soft kiss on his lips.

He found out that she liked it whenever he looked at her, whenever he watched her, because it makes her blush and “feel things”, according to her own words. He found out when he had been drawing her, and when he showed her the final drawing, she leaned up to press a kiss on his lips. He had been shell-shocked, and for a while he didn’t kiss back so she had thought he didn’t like it, but then he kissed her, and that was that.

All of it happened because of his art collection for her. Since then, he swore he’d never plan to stop making more.

“Do you like it?” Natasha asks almost shyly, and Steve smiles, his eyes getting caught in the glint of the necklace he had given her just before she practically shoved her present for him on his face.

“I love it,” he replies softly, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips. “Second best Christmas gift ever.”

She frowns slightly, pulling away back at him for a moment. “What’s the first one?” she asks, and he chuckles.

“You.” he replies, earning him a smack on his arm for being a sap, and a long kiss on his lips as he smiles against her mouth.

* * *

_ 2016 _

Steve is getting jittery, of course. Nervous, trembling with every anxious thoughts running through his head as he walks back and forth in the living room of their safehouse, ignoring the looks being given to him by Sam and Bucky who are just watching him as they munch on their early Christmas breakfast.

It’s one of those days, they suppose, one of those days when Natasha is out of contact from him for days, and he couldn’t reach her via burner phone, or any number that she had given him. He’s always jittery in those days, mostly because he hasn’t seen her since the fight in Leipzig, and he’d only ever heard her voice through secure lines once or twice in small intervals since then. It’s not enough, of course, because there are  _ so _ many things he wants to tell her, so many things he wants to ask her for forgiveness because of the things they had gone through—the things he said and the things he did in the midst of the civil war.

If he could take back all of it, in trade for her being in his arms so safely and securely, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Stevie, you’re pacing again.” Bucky calls from the kitchen, and Steve ignores it as he continues to pace nervously, a million thoughts running through his mind as his mind drifts to Natasha.

_ Where is she? What is she doing? Is she still on the run on her own? _

Because the last time he’s heard from her, she’d been in Russia, chasing after a lead when she found out that somebody had been trying to revive another twisted version of the Red Room. She had shot him a quick text in her secure line a little over a month ago when he had practically spammed her messages asking her where she is, and if she’s okay.

_ Russia, safe. Chasing down Dark Room. Talk soon. -N _

It’s practically  _ nothing, _ yet at the same time everything. She had told him of where she is, of how she is, of what she is doing, yet it’s too distant, too cold for his liking. Like it’s not  _ her _ that’s speaking to him, that’s communicating to him. He attempted to call, but she had rebuffed each of his attempt, and as the rebuffed attempts continue to increase over time when he tried calling or shooting her a quick text, he grows increasingly nervous.

_ Is she still alive? What is she doing? What is she thinking? _

Because even despite everything, he thinks he still has at least the basic  _ right _ to worry about her. No, he doesn’t know about the status of their relationship since the civil war, since the war ensued and since she let him and Bucky go in that airport, but he believes that his love for her is stronger than the fight that ensued and practically almost broke them apart. He doesn’t care if she doesn’t feel the same anymore. He just wanted to  _ know _ if the woman he loves is still alive, breathing and alright.

And it’s supposedly their second Christmas together, but she’s not here.

“Cap, she’s fine,” Sam calls again from the kitchen. “She’s a spy, and she can fend for herself.”

“She knows what she’s doing, and she knows where she’s going.” Bucky adds, and Sam lets out a hum in acknowledgment.

Of course, he knows. He knows she’s independent, and she knows what she’s doing, and she can fend for herself should something go wrong, but of course, he couldn’t help but worry.

The afternoon and evening pass, and Steve is left alone in the living room. Sam and Bucky had turned in for the evening after wishing Steve a Merry Christmas, as Steve is left in his own accords, phone in hand in case Natasha at least shoots a text to greet him a Merry Christmas, or would at least call him to let her know she’s okay. He looks at the clock in the safehouse. 11:54 in the evening, six minutes left until the end of Christmas, and still, he gets  _ nothing. _

He sighs, leaning back on the couch as he looks up at the ceiling. Sam and Bucky had asked him yesterday what his wish for Christmas would be, and he only answered one thing, “Natasha”. He only wanted her back for Christmas, wanted her to be in his arms the way they had been last Christmas in the privacy of his room (back when the team were not aware of their relationship). He only wants  _ her, _ and he only wants to love her at least for this Christmas.

And he almost gives up, because it’s six minutes left until the end of Christmas, when he hears a soft knock on the door. He gets up warily, his senses heightening as he slowly and stealthily approaches the front door. Nobody should find them. Nobody should  _ ever _ find the safehouse because only the three of them know of the location, and Wanda too, but she had made it clear she’ll be spending the holidays with Vision, so it couldn’t be her.

Steve stands in front of the door, as three knocks are heard once again. He rests his hand on the knob, and he twists it silently, cracking it slightly open at first to see who’s on the other side, but when he did, he opens the door widely, as his eyes widen and his breath leaves his chest.

_ Natasha, _ in all her glory, her red hair braided and her face pale and her coat almost covered in snow.

“Can I ask you something?” she asks softly, and he nods, his eyes not leaving hers, and she gives him a small smile. “Last year, during Christmas, what did you say was the second best gift you had?”

He blinks, as if caught off guard with the question, but the corners of his mouth twitch into a small smile, remembering the conversation they had last year during Christmas. “Charcoal pencils.” he responds softly, and she nods, huffing out a soft laugh.

“And what was the first best one?” she asks, her eyes widening as she waits for him to answer. He gives her a small and gentle smile.

“You.” he tells her, and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

“Does is still mean the same now?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Steve’s mouth then turns into a full smile as he feels tears of relief filling his eyes, especially when he pulls her in for a tight embrace, and she lets out a breath of relief as she rests her head on her shoulder, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

She is here, and she is safe.

“Yes,” he responds softly, pressing a kiss on her head, as he pulls her inside the house and closes the door behind them. “Always will be, yes.”

* * *

_ 2017 _

Natasha groans softly, a sharp pain shooting up her body as she attempts to move. She shuts her eyes in pain, feeling the corner of her eyes stinging as she heaves a deep breath in an attempt to quell and ease the pain in her body. She feels a rough and calloused, yet somehow so soothingly familiar hand rest on her hair, and she forces her eyes to open and sees Steve.

Steve. Steve and his beautiful blue eyes, those that are now glistening with unshed tears as he looks at her.

What’s making this pair of blue eyes shine with tears? What is making her Steve sad?

“Nat,” he says softly, his voice breaking as a tear slips from his eyes. She attempts to move an arm, but she hisses in pain when she attempts to move her left arm, and he leans to press a kiss on her head, his hand brushing her hair soothingly, as a tear escapes from her eyes. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re okay now.”

She sniffles, taking deep breaths as she opens her eyes and looks down. Both of her arms are in casts, and her torso is wrapped in bandage, and as she lifts her head from the pillow, she suddenly feels a wave of dizziness hit her, so she rests her head back. Steve frowns as he presses yet another kiss on her forehead, and the tip of her nose, as he brushes her hair soothingly, another tear slipping from his eyes.

_ Right, _ she thinks.  _ It’s her own goddamn twisted Christmas present that made Steve so upset. _

“I couldn’t lose you,” she croaks out, as she feels tears welling up in her eyes. She whimpers slightly, a choked sob coming out of her mouth as she recalls everything that has happened, that she  _ can _ recall that led them to this situation. “I couldn’t lose you on Christmas.”

“And you think I could?” Steve asks, resting his forehead against hers, and she sighs shakily. “You think James and I could? Never in a thousand years, Nat.  _ Never.” _

It’s a mission gone wrong, she recalls. She, along with Steve, Bucky and T’challa were sent out for a supposedly quick mission to stop known mercs from making a weapons deal in Nigeria a day before Christmas, a day before their  _ first _ Christmas with their son. They had supposed it was going to be a quick mission, nothing they haven’t done before when they were on the run, so they said yes to the mission.

Of course they  _ thought _ it was going to be easy, not until Natasha watched one of the mercs’ gunmen point his rifle at Steve, and she jumped in front of her husband that things began going south.

Mostly for them, because for her, it was just pain and darkness all throughout.

She doesn’t remember the next events that happened, barely registered her son’s cries when she was brought back to Wakanda, and her husband’s pleas for her to stay awake and hold on because  _ no, _ they can’t lose her for Christmas. No, she can’t die on Christmas, and no, James does  _ not _ deserve to spend his first Christmas without his mother. But she had been on the brink of death the day  _ before _ Christmas, and hadn’t woken up until Christmas afternoon already.

“Well, guess I knew what I almost gave you for Christmas,” she says lightly, looking over at her husband and offering him a small smile. “Almost gave you my life right there.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. How can he be so in love with a woman with such a dark humor, who jokes so lightly about almost  _ dying _ on Christmas day? “You know, when I asked you to share your life with me a year ago, I didn’t think you’d do it so literally,” he says, and she lets out a chuckle. “I never  _ meant _ it for you do it so literally.”

“Giving my life to save the man I love? Seems like the best gift for me.” Natasha says, smiling. Steve lets out a small smile as he leans in to press a soft kiss on his wife’s lips. Out of all the gifts she had given him in the last four years, he swears this is the _least_ he's fond of. It's not something he wants, her giving his life for his sake, but he supposes that her living and waking up after being so close to dying is probably the best one she'd given him yet.

“Promise me you won’t do it again,” he tells her softly. “I can’t lose you, and James can’t lose you.” He brushes her hair softly through his fingers. “Don’t do it again.”

Natasha hums. “I’ll do my best,” she says, and Steve huffs out a laugh as he shakes his head. She tears her eyes off of him and looks around at her small hospital room. “Now where’s my little boy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote a new series called "Romanoff's Anatomy", so I hope you guys can check it out! Again, super big thank you to everyone and I hope y'all have a wonderful Christmas season!


	38. Three Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 38\. Three kisses Steve and Natasha shared on Christmas, with one of them not exactly what Steve had thought.
> 
> "He guides her head to rest on his shoulder, as she nestles her head between his shoulder and neck, and she hums. “Thank you for your service, Captain,” she jokes, and he laughs softly. “Merry Christmas, Steve Rogers.” she says lightly, her eyes fluttering close. He smiles. “Merry Christmas, Nat.” he responds, resting his head over hers, as he closes his eyes as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned to post this in a few days' time, but then my schedule got so mixed up (Christmas sched, amirite) so I might not be able to stick to my original sched I have in mind. Also cos I lack self-control when it comes to posting stories and fics once I finish them so here it is: the third installment for my Christmas miniseries within a series! As usual, hope you guys enjoy!

_ 2012 _

“You mean to tell me you haven’t been  _ kissed _ since getting out of the ice?”

Steve narrows his eyes in confusion at Tony as his lips barely touched the rim of his glass of whiskey. Of course he’s aware  _ now _ that Tony is Howard’s son, but he didn’t at all expect how strikingly similar they are not only in the way they look, but also in the way they think and even act. It’s baffling, of course, to say the very least, but then again, he figures it might only because he had slept through the modern times and therefore had been stuck in the “conservative ‘40s”, as what his new S.H.I.E.L.D. partner, Natasha had said.

But conservative ‘40s or not, he must admit that Tony’s question of, “Who have you kissed since getting out of the ice?” out of the blue had been one to catch Steve off guard, and one that apparently caught the inventor off guard when Steve answered no one.

“He’s only ever been awake for  _ months,  _ Tony, I think the man deserves a break,” Bruce says, gesturing over at Steve who nods, giving Tony a pointed look, as the inventor rolled his eyes. “I don’t think going around kissing women is the first thing in his to-do list in the 21st century.”

“It’s not even in my to-do list at all.” Steve corrects, and the rest of the team, besides Tony, chuckles.

Steve can see the team’s collective effort in helping Steve adjust and adapt more in the modern times, an idea Steve is not entirely sure from who it came from. While he had been set and content in his mindset to spend the holidays (and frankly, the rest of his life) alone since he learned that Peggy had grown old and ended up in a nursing facility and everyone he’s known from his past is dead, his new teammates apparently weren’t. Tony had invited the rest of the team for a Christmas brunch, that had stretched out until the evening when the stories from each of them weren’t running out. Steve had practically received a crash course for everyone (excluding Thor, who apparently had  _ no _ idea of the wars and fights that ensued over the decades) about the events that happened when he had slept in the ice.

Apparently, he missed a  _ whole _ lot of wars and fights that still happened, inventions that were made that made the 21st century more convenient to live in than the ‘40s. But out of all the stories told that evening, he was particularly intrigued by the story of Hydra’s partner organization in Russia that had apparently clandestinely existed even when he was still alive: the Red Room by the KGB in Russia, where his newfound partner, Natasha Romanoff, had been raised and trained.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know about that until now,” Natasha said cooly, when he reacted so surprised when she told him in passing how she became one of those assassins sent by Russia in America during the Cold War. “I mean, obviously you know  _ nothing _ about the Cold War, but I would’ve expected you would’ve at least known what I used to do before entering S.H.I.E.L.D..

“There’s no  _ way _ I could have known.” Steve pointed out. Sure, he’d always known that Natasha is dubbed as the “Black Widow”, but he thought it had always been just a codename or title, like how Clint is referred to as Hawkeye, or Tony is referred to as Iron Man, but he never knew how her title came into fruition, and when she  _ did _ tell him about it, he was, of course, surprised, to say the least.

She laughed at that. “Didn’t Fury give you  _ all _ the files of your friends in the ‘40s, as well as our profiles when he recruited you in the team?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she smirked. “Or was mine  _ that _ uninteresting you even bat an eyelash at it?”

“N-no, how could you say that?” Steve asked, mortified by the mere fact that him not reading her (or anybody’s files, really) file had offended her. Sure he may still be living in the 21st century now, but that didn’t mean his attitude and his high regard and respect for women should change or be any less.

But she just laughed and shook her head. “Relax, Rogers, I was kidding,” she said. “I’m just surprised you didn’t know about it. Everyone did, apparently except you.”

“And me, when I first met you, Miss Rushman,” Tony had butted in, and Natasha rolled her eyes playfully. “I thought you were a lingerie model and linguist at first.”

So there was that. All evening, while the stories and conversations flowed, while he’d been continuously teased for his conservative attitude and mindset, he still couldn’t move past Natasha’s stories of the Red Room and the KGB. What she had gone through was traumatic, at best the  _ worst _ possible experience any one of them would have gone through, but she said her story so nonchalantly and cooly, like she’d done so a million times, like it hadn’t been as traumatic as it sounded.

It didn’t help in the way he was  _ already _ intrigued by this woman.

And by the end of the evening, everyone was already passed out. Well, everyone except for him (who couldn’t get drunk) and Natasha, who’s already half-asleep from all the Russian vodka she had consumed the rest of the Christmas evening. She is sitting on the floor, with Clint’s passed out head lying on her lap, as she unconsciously runs her fingers through his hair as she fights to keep her eyes open while Steve sits beside her.

“Having fun so far on your first Christmas since the ice, Cap?” she asks in a low voice, and Steve looks at her and chuckles. She is blinking so heavily and almost so rapidly, obviously still fighting to keep herself awake because someone else in the room  _ is _ awake. But then he also happens to be a super soldier who has a super fast metabolism, so she’s slowly losing the fight.

“Well, it’s not that much of a difference in how we used to celebrate Christmas in the ‘40s,” Steve says, and Natasha hums, turning her head to look at him under heavy eyelids and furrowed eyebrows. “Everyone still gets drunk, and everyone exchanges weird life stories.”

Natasha lets out a low chuckle, and he smiles. “Should I assume that you also had someone pushing you to have some woman to kiss for Christmas back in the ‘40s?” she teases, and he laughs softly as he shakes his head.

“No, not really, it was just kind of a thing if you’re in the army. You get kissed in thanks from some women, you kiss them back a second time, and they thank you for your service afterwards. Not entirely sure  _ which _ service they’re referring to then.” he jokes lightly.

“Wow, women just come over to you and kiss you on Christmas? You must be a hotshot then, Captain,” Natasha says, smirking, and Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “Sorry you won’t have anyone kiss you this Christmas.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s no big deal,” he says, and he smiles. “It wasn’t even  _ my _ thing anyway.”  _ Couldn’t deny how nice it felt, though, _ he thinks.

“But it’s a ‘40s army thing,” Natasha says, and Steve hums. “Like it reminds you of the old days.” The corner of Natasha’s lips quirk upwards and she scoots a little closer to Steve, careful not to disturb Clint as he sleeps soundly on her lap.

Before Steve can even respond or react, she runs her fingers through his hair, resting it on the back of his head as she pulls him close, pressing a light and chaste kiss on his lips. He tastes vodka from when she pulled away and he purses his lips together. Her lips are soft, and while her kiss had been swift, quick and chaste, he can’t help but  _ crave _ for more, so he leans to press another quick chaste kiss on her mouth (it’s what he did back in the ‘40s too, what the  _ others _ did because it  _ is _ an army thing) and she giggles lightly.

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you wanna make out with me on Christmas evening, Captain Rogers.” Natasha jokes lightly, her words slurring as her eyes start to blink more heavily and rapidly, their faces inches away from each other.

Steve chuckles and he shakes his head as he pulls away slightly. “It’s a thing in the ‘40s, that we kiss the women again after they kiss us,” he says, and Natasha hums. “Go to sleep, Nat.”

He guides her head to rest on his shoulder, as she nestles her head between his shoulder and neck, and she hums. “Thank you for your service, Captain,” she jokes, and he laughs softly. “Merry Christmas, Steve Rogers.” she says lightly, her eyes fluttering close.

He smiles. “Merry Christmas, Nat.” he responds, resting his head over hers, as he closes his eyes as well.

It had been his first kiss since coming out of the ice, something that alludes to one of his traditions when he lived in the ‘40s as part of the army. She doesn’t remember this, of course, because she was practically on the brink of passing out when she initiated the kiss. He only  _ knew _ that she didn’t remember that the first ever kiss he had since coming out of the ice was with her when, two years later, on their way to New Jersey, she jokingly asked him if their kiss on the escalator was his first one since 1945.

He answers that it wasn’t, and she joked about him needing more practice. He didn’t know what to feel about her joke, though, because the only “practice” he ever had since coming out of the ice was with her. Besides, he doesn’t recall her ever complaining about the first one.

* * *

_ 2017 _

“I spy with my little eyes, something that has an S and a T.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows at Sam. “You mean they’re two words?” he asks, and Sam nods, smirking almost dangerously and amusingly. Bucky turns his head and spots Steve and Natasha on the couch beside their makeshift Christmas tree, with Natasha resting back on the arm rest, her legs up on Steve’s lap as they talk quietly, both of them having small smiles on their faces as they immerse themselves in their own usual little world inside the safe walls of their safehouse.

“Steve and Tasha?” Bucky asks confusedly, looking back at Sam with a raised eyebrow, because since when did anyone refer to Natasha as “Tasha”?

Sam’s jaw drops, as if Bucky had just said one of the dumbest things he has ever heard, and Bucky had lost to his own minigame of “I Spy” apart from their own  _ real _ game of Uno. Bucky blinks, and Sam just frowns at him.

“Sexual tension!” he practically exclaims, and Bucky’s eyes widen in realization, as Sam rolls his eyes and puts his cards down on the table. Bucky’s mouth hangs open when he spots three +4 cards in his hand. “It was meant to be a  _ joke,  _ Barnes.”

“You were planning on stacking up three +4 cards on  _ me?” _ Bucky asks, gesturing over at Sam’s cards facing up, and he sighs when Sam just scowls at him. “Okay, ha ha, very funny. But it’s honestly not a joke anymore when you live through it everyday for the last three months.” He raises an eyebrow at Sam. “You’ve lived through it longer than I have, and you still  _ joke _ about it.”

Following the Accords and the official Avengers fallout, Steve, Natasha and Sam had been on the run and living in a safehouse together after the former two had broken their teammates out of the Raft. They were then later joined by Bucky, who had requested that after his rehabilitation process in Wakanda, he would be reunited with his Steve, so that was what happened. They’re the “Cap Quartet” _ , _ as Natasha dubbed them, earning a small smirk from Steve at their small inside joke, and a confused frown from Sam. They’ve been doing underground ops for T’challa abroad when he needs them to, sometimes joining him in specific missions, and sometimes doing ops on their own when news comes to them. 

But now it’s the holidays, and it seems like the mercs they usually take down have taken their holidays too, because it had been a peaceful past few days leading up to Christmas for the four of them. So they’re just mostly lounging and celebrating Christmas as much as they can without ever being caught, without going much outside of their safehouse apart from getting themselves groceries. Sam and Bucky celebrate it by playing with card and board games, while Steve and Natasha, although they join the two sometimes, they mostly celebrate the downtime and the holidays just wound up together on the couch beside their small Christmas tree.

The last fact didn’t escape the eyes of their friends, of course, and while it’s all nice and fluffy and altogether very romantic whenever they witness Steve and Natasha brush their elbows against each other or share small smiles and smirks, they’re also getting sick of it.

“Do you think they make out on the couch when we turn in for the night?” Sam asks, and Bucky furrows his eyebrows at him.

“What are you,  _ eleven?” _

“I’m pretty sure they do  _ more _ than making out.” Sam says, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at them.

“No, screw it, you’re like  _ ten.” _

“There’s just  _ so much _ sexual tension in there, Barnes, and don’t tell me you don’t feel it,” Sam tells him, raising an eyebrow as Bucky sighs. “And it’s Christmas, for God’s sake, I think they deserve to  _ at least _ acknowledge something that’s going on between them for the past year.”

“I wasn’t there, but I’m assuming you weren’t like this during Christmas last year.” Bucky points out.

“We were too busy chasing down a group of mercenaries. ‘Sides, the tension was more bearable back then,” Sam says. “But right now,  _ this _ is getting out of hand.” He gestures over at the two who are now laughing softly, probably completely oblivious they are their two friends’ topic of interest. 

(They weren’t, as they can  _ perfectly _ and clearly hear them because of how small the safehouse them, and even in their down time they’re still alert with their senses on a high, but they just actively choose to ignore it and go with it if only to make their friends, specifically Sam, happy. Besides, they’re kind of anticipating what their friends’ plans are for them.)

“Okay,” Bucky concedes. “What do you plan to do?”

Sam looks around the small kitchen, and he grins widely when his eyes land on something on the counter.

“It got quiet,” Natasha remarks, raising an eyebrow at Steve, as both of their eyes flicker over at the kitchen where Bucky and Sam had been “whispering” about them. “D’you think they’re still alive?”

Steve hums and shrugs, his hand smoothing her leg on his lap. “We probably killed them with our ‘sexual tension’ as Sam calls it.” he says, and Natasha snorts out a laugh, and Steve chuckles.

“I’m putting this on you. You should at least  _ try  _ to be quieter and more subtle the next time.” Natasha says, smirking, and Steve scoffs out a laugh.

“Bold of  _ you _ to ask  _ me _ to be quiet when you’re the one who sneaks in my room and—”

“Hush, someone’s opening the window,” Natasha says, putting a hand over Steve’s mouth. She straightens her body, and leans slightly to the side to take a better look at the kitchen. “These two snuck out through the window like a pair of ten-year-olds.” she says, smirking, putting her hand back on her lap as she leans back on the arm rest and looks at Steve. “I’m trying to lessen the pent-up ‘tension’ between us,  _ alright? _ Can’t exactly do that if you become quiet.”

Steve chuckles and shakes his head, and the two of them turn their heads when he hears Bucky calling them to the kitchen. “What do you think they’re up to?” Steve asks, looking back at Natasha.

She smirks, putting her feet down on the floor and getting up, pulling Steve up with her. “Why don’t we find out for ourselves?” she asks, and Steve chuckles as he follows her to the entrance of their kitchen.

“Mistletoe!” Sam exclaims, pointing at the ceiling, and the two pause under the doorway to the kitchen. They both look up and  _ indeed _ find a mistletoe hanging over them. Steve blushes furiously, and Natasha laughs loudly, looking at the two of them.

“Did you two just cut off a small branch from a tree outside and wrap a red ribbon from our decorations leftovers so you can hang it up here?” she asks, raising an eyebrow amusingly, just as the two widen their eyes and shake their heads quickly.

“Totally did  _ not _ do any of those,” Sam says, and he points up at the mistletoe. “You know the rules. You have to kiss when under the mistletoe.”

_ So this is their plan? _ Natasha laughs, as she looks up at Steve who looks down at her, an eyebrow raised and a small smile playing on their lips.  _ They should know what we do behind closed doors to resolve the ‘sexual tension’. _

Steve chuckles, and without hesitation, he leans down to press a soft and chaste kiss on Natasha’s lips. She smiles against his mouth, and kisses him back, her hands resting on both sides of his face, as his hands rest on her waist. They pull back, and smile at each other, and they look at their two friends whose are grinning widely at them.

“They  _ do _ make out on the couch when we’re asleep!” Sam exclaims, clapping his hands as they turn to Bucky who chuckles and shakes his head as he looks over at his two friends knowingly.

“Glad it makes you happy, Sam.” Steve says, resting his head over Natasha’s as she wraps her arms around his torso and rests head head on his chest. Bucky smiles knowingly at them and sighs as he looks over at Sam.

“Merry freaking Christmas, Wilson, hope you’ll sleep tight tonight.” Bucky says, grinning mischievously over at Steve and Natasha. Sam might have thought he quelled the sexual tension by making them kiss, but Bucky just  _ knows _ that he only made it  _ worse, _ and neither of them would be sleeping tonight.

* * *

_ 2025 _

The year is 2025. It is Christmas in the year 2025, two years after they defeated Thanos, and he had never been happier in his life.

He looks out at the window where the snow is practically covering what he knows to be their lawn grass, and the trees and other plants in their garden. He used to be so bothered by the cold, so bothered by the snow because it reminds him too much of the ice, but now, as he inhales the scent of hot cocoa and cinnamon cookies coming from their kitchen, he doesn’t focus too much on the fact that he felt trapped by the cold that’s fighting against the heater emitting warmth in their humble home.

He focuses on the familiar scent of home, and of the light footsteps he hears coming behind him.

He smiles when he feels a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. He can recognize this touch even in his sleep, is very familiar with the warmth that pools in his chest whenever he thinks of whose arms these belong to. He looks down and smiles widely when he sees the familiar matching gold band on one of the fingers, below it a diamond engagement ring he was familiar with buying and giving to the owner of these fingers.

He rests his hands over them, bringing one hand up and leaning down to press a kiss on the smooth skin of the hand. She hums in satisfaction behind him, and he turns around and smiles as she smiles up at him, her green eyes wide and sparkling as she looks at him.

“Watcha looking at, soldier?” she asks, her eyes flicking back to the window where he had been looking at, and he chuckles as he wraps an arm around her waist to pull her to his side. He presses a gentle kiss on top of her head as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“The snow covering our garden,” he answers, and she hums. He smiles widely. “That’s gonna be a  _ ton _ of work to clean up after winter.”

She chuckles. “Then it’s a good thing you won’t have to do it alone,” she says. She grabs hold of his other hand and rests it on her belly. He lets out a soft laugh when he feels a kick inside, and she grins widely. “This one seems to be a pretty active one right here.”

Steve looks down at his hand resting on her belly and feels yet again another soft kick on where his hand is. “He seems pretty excited and looking forward to helping his old man clean up the snow on the garden after winter.” he says, and she laughs softly, nodding.

“He’ll need to if he wants to play on his slide set or swing that would be covered in snow,” she says, and Steve grins. “Those of which we need to assemble anytime  _ soon,  _ Steve.”

“He’s not out here yet, Nat,” Steve chides gently, and she laughs softly. “And even if he is, he’s not playing on those playground sets  _ yet.” _ Natasha hums.

“Then I guess we bought those playground sets a little too early then.” she tells him, raising an eyebrow at her husband and he chuckles.

“They were on  _ sale.” _

“Everything’s on sale during the holidays, sweetheart,” Natasha says, an amused smile playing on her mouth as she looks at her husband. “We could’ve bought something else for out little boy.”

“I got too excited,” he admits softly, and she laughs. “When I saw it, I just couldn’t help but imagine our little boy playing in it, you know? Like he’s on top of the slide and you’re there to catch him at the bottom, and he’s on the swing set asking me to push him so he can go a little higher.” He smiles and she chuckles softly. “But I got a little advanced in thinking of those things.”

“A little advanced?” Natasha repeats, and he laughs, pressing a kiss on her red hair as she sighs contentedly, her eyes turning back on the window as she snuggles further in her husband’s embrace. “Imagine this is our  _ last _ year of spending Christmas with just the two of us. Next year, we’ll start spending it with  _ our _ son.”

Steve grins at that, and he nods. “Our son,” he repeats softly, and she looks up at him, a soft smile on her face. He chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss on her mouth. “Who would’ve thought, hm?”

Who would’ve thought they would get here at this point? That after everything they have gone through together, after all the fights and wars they’ve experienced and after the losses they had gone through, who would’ve thought they would end up here, happy and content and starting a new family together?

And he looks at her. His _ wife, _ the woman he loves carrying their son in her body who will be arriving next year. Who would’ve thought that after everything that had happened after Thanos, after losing her and bargaining with the supernatural and cosmic laws to get her back, she would end up here where she belongs? That they would finally live the life they deserve, the life they have talked about having and sharing one Christmas before the heist happened, before she died and he lost her.

He doesn’t want to think of that, of him ever losing her, because what’s important is that she’s here, that he got her back. What’s important is the life they are living, and the future ahead of them; their marriage, their son, and their peaceful life as normal people.

Natasha hums and chuckles, facing her husband and placing both of her hands on his face, her thumbs gently brushing his cheeks. He smiles down at her, just as she leans up to press a soft kiss on his mouth. He smiles and hums against her mouth, like how they usually did for the past Christmases they've spent together.

_ Perfect kiss for a perfect Christmas. _

“Thank you, Steve,” she murmurs against his mouth, and he rests his forehead against hers, a small and content smile on his face as he looks at her. She smiles at him. “Thank you.”

“For what, babe?” he chuckles, because if  _ anything, _ he should be the one thanking her. He rests his hand on her belly and she chuckles softly. He should be the one thanking her for the gift of life, for the gift of their son who would be here next year.

“For getting a life, for living a life,” she answers softly, pulling away from him slightly, a small and gentle smile on her face. “Even if it’s not with me.”

_ Wait, what? _

* * *

He opens his eyes, finding himself staring at a ceiling fan. He turns. He turns towards the only source of light in the room, and sees snow falling from the sky, the flakes sticking on the glass of the window. He turns his head again, his eyes flickering around his in a dark room, a bedroom, lying down on a soft bed with soft sheets, an arm draped over his torso. He takes a few moments to himself, breathing deeply and blinking rapidly, trying to get his own bearing on where he is and what he’s doing after…

After an apparent dream.

And then it him. And it him _hard._ Because the year is not 2025. It  _ has _ been two years since the final battle with Thanos, since he brought the stones back, since he attempted to bring Natasha back from Vormir after bargaining with the Red Skull…

And failed.

It’s not Christmas 2025. It’s Christmas on the year 1950.

_ 1950 _

He closes his eyes again, letting out a shaky sigh as a fresh wave of grief washes over him. It’s been the same dream for two years straight—the same recurring dream bringing the same fresh wave of grief and sadness for three Christmases straight. His bottom lip quivers, feeling his eyes stinging as he shuts it tighter, hoping in vain that the tears wouldn’t fall so he wouldn’t wake his  _ actual _ wife beside him.

“Steve?”

But as usual, as for the last two years, he always does. And he opens his eyes just as he hears the sheets rustling, and the arm draped over his torso tightening. He turns, snuggling himself further to her side as he buries his face in soft brown curls of the woman beside him. He rests his hand on her pregnant belly, where their son is, who will be an additional member of their small family next year.

“I’m okay.” he murmurs quietly, almost so mechanically and routinely he sometimes wonders if she still ever believes him since he’s had the same kind of nightmare that woke her up since Christmas of 1948, and many nights along with that.

“Is it Thanos again?” she asks, and he sighs and nods. He knows, by the probable laws of time traveling and interference of the quantum realm, that he shouldn’t have told her all about it, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain the numerous evenings of grief he had experienced since he came back for her. He knows she deserves at least a little bit of truth.

Only a little bit, he thinks, because if she finds out the  _ full _ truth that consisted his nightmares since he came back, she wouldn’t forgive him. He wouldn’t be living the life he deserves, the one he promised Natasha he would live.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss on Peggy’s lips, as she hums, and he rests his head back on the pillow. “It’s okay.”

He can feel her hesitation, her reluctance and her  _ want _ to continue and push the conversation further, but he knows she can also feel how much he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to dwell on the grief again, even if it’s all that he had been doing since he came back for her, and even if all that’s ever stuck in his mind tonight is  _ her, _ and the life they told each other they would live after Thanos, after the heist, after everything.

He watches as she nods, snuggling closer to him as she closes her eyes again. He loves Peggy. Of course, he does, which is why he came back for her after his last mission of returning back the stones, hoping he can live the life he’d always wanted for himself  _ way _ before he went under the ice. But how long can he keep this up? The annual nightmares, the grief and guilt, how long before they subside? And how long before he could finally live his life happily and peacefully without having interrupted Christmas nights because of nightmares like these?

How long before he can finally move on and let go of the burden of knowing he failed to bring her back, and failed to let her live the life she’d always deserved? That here he is, living the life they’ve always talked about having, the one they never got the chance to because she’s dead?

He sighs, closing his eyes as he offers a silent prayer, to God or to whoever’s listening, to ask if he can speak to her for once. “I hope you’re happy wherever you are, Nat,” he prays, and he resists the tears filling his eyes to fall. “I’m sorry I failed to give  _ you _ the life you deserve.”

He opens his eyes, finally letting the tears fall as he sighs, and just like the past Christmases, he dares himself to whisper out loud, “Merry Christmas, Nat. I hope you can forgive me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGAIN so sorry for making Nat's death (once again) canon in this fic (i didn't really intend on making it canon, let alone intend for this to become so angsty). I swear the next ones will be better (i hope hehe). Anyway, as usual, leave your comments and reviews and I hope you have a great day!
> 
> OH and don't forget to check out my other works! I added a new installment in my AU series, Modern Love, and I'm already working on an update for Romanoff's Anatomy. YAY!


	39. Two Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 39\. Two times when Steve and Natasha got drunk, and in each time, they had a confession to make.
> 
> "And Steve muses that even if she had momentarily forgotten about him in her drunken stupor, her heart would never forget about the love she has for him, and that, for Steve, is the most beautiful thing he could ever learn about Natasha."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's five days left before Christmas! YAYYY and I just wanna say thank you once again to all the kudos, comments, reviews you have in this work. I may not be able to reply to all comments, but I swear I read 'em all, and my heart is full every time I read them, especially the positive ones (which is, like, majority of the comments)! You have NO idea how much they all mean to me and how much they motivate me to continue writing. So thank you, thank you, and I hope you enjoy this one as well!

_ 2015 _

“I challenge you for a drinking contest!”

Those are probably the words one  _ shouldn’t _ utter in front of someone so competitive and so cocky in drinking nights as Steve Rogers. He couldn’t get drunk,  _ that _ much everyone in the team already knew, with the number of times they have already drunk together as a team, because of the super soldier serum running through his veins. He  _ can’t _ get buzzed by ordinary alcoholic drinks, so most of the time, in team nights such as this, they trust Steve to be the one to take care of them or at least drive them home if need be.

It’s one of the few things Steve brags about: his super fast metabolism that couldn’t get him drunk, which is why he wins every time there’s a drinking contest. He’s always so confident he’d win against his opponent, and he enjoys watching his opponent get drunk while he couldn’t.

So one Christmas evening, when the team had gathered for their annual Christmas drinking evening, Thor had brought in his special booze, Asgardian mead, and challenged Steve for a drinking contest. “I challenge Captain for a drinking contest!” he had announced.

And Natasha had rolled her eyes when Steve perked up from his seat and grinned widely at Natasha who shook her head and chuckled when Steve rested a hand on her lap beside his. “I can win this.” he told her.

“You’re gonna be up against Thor, Steve, and he’s brought the strong alcohol from Asgard.” Natasha pointed out, but of course, she wasn’t at all surprised when his ever-so stubborn partner shook his head and only grinned widely.

“I’ve tasted those stuff before, and it never hit me,” he said, and Natasha just scoffed playfully, tilting his head at him. She wanted to tell him off, tell him that she  _ won’t _ be responsible if he would lose, but then he smiled so sweetly at her, one that sent a warm pool in her stomach, and she sighed. “It’ll be fun.”

“Not for me,” she mumbled, but then she nodded. “Make me proud.” She smiled, and Steve grinned giddily at her, standing up to retrieve a glass of mead Thor was handing over to him. Natasha leaned back in her couch and shook her head amusingly as the rest of the team started cheering for Steve, while she watched, her lips touching the edge of her glass of vodka.

Of course, by the end of it all, she was right, and Steve lost and when he conceded because, in his words, he started “feeling funny”.

So here they are now, sitting on the couch while the rest of the team are clumped in smaller groups as they all laugh and drink the Christmas evening away. Steve’s head is resting on Natasha’s shoulder, his eyes closed, as her hand unconsciously brushes through his blonde hair soothingly, observing and watching the rest of the team talk and drink. Sam, Clint and Rhodey are playing a card drinking game, Tony, Vision and Bruce are discussing some scientific theories and Tony’s probable new inventions, Thor, Wanda and Pepper are clumped in a small group discussing something quietly, while Steve and Natasha are snuggled in the couch just the two of them.

Which have caught the others’ eyes, especially when immediately after Steve had conceded to the contest, and everyone had groaned and complained of his immediate loss, he stumbled towards Natasha, snuggling himself closer to her body, while she wrapped herself around him so instinctively. Everyone had raised their eyebrows, but she decided to pay them no attention so as to immediately close the subject.

No, she didn’t expect this reaction either, but she loved it nonetheless.

“I told you,” she tells him quietly, and he stirs beside her, burying his face further in the crook of her neck. She chuckles lightly, scratching his hair gently. “You can never be up against Thor when it comes to those kinds of things.”

“I’m not dead yet,” he mumbles, and he opens his eyes as he tilts his head to look up at her. He smiles, his smile sending her heart beating a million miles per hour. “Did I at least make you proud?”

Natasha hums, laughing softly as his smile widens. “Well, you’re not dead yet, so there’s that,” she tells him softly, and he chuckles, draping an arm around her stomach to pull her closer to him, and she laughs. “Who would’ve thought Captain America gets so cuddly whenever he’s drunk?”

“‘M not cuddly,” he murmurs, a small smile still playing on his lips. “Well, not to everyone.”

Natasha chuckles softly, her eyes flickering back to the whole team. She looks when she hears Wanda’s familiar laugh followed by a hiccup, as Thor and Pepper chuckle. Steve looks up at Natasha, then follows her line of sight, a smile forming on his lips as he looks back up at Natasha, who has a small fond smile on her lips as she watches Wanda.

“You like her.” Steve teases, and she looks down at him and chuckles, shaking her head.

“Of course I do,” she responds softly. “How could you  _ not?” _

“She’s come so far, you know, since we’ve met her,” Steve says softly, his eyes flicking back to Wanda. “I mean...she still has  _ a lot _ to learn, but...you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Natasha laughs softly, resting her head on Steve’s. She has the urge to plant a kiss on his hair, but she resists it.  _ Dangerous thoughts. _ “Who would’ve known Captain America also loses his vocabulary when he’s drunk?”

Steve huffs out a chuckle. “You mean speechless?” he asks, an amused tone lacing in his voice. “Not to everyone.”

Natasha hums. “Care to share?” she asks, but Steve shakes his head, and Natasha laughs softly. “D’you think she’s happy, though? Wanda, I mean? Today on Christmas...it’s her first one without her brother.”

Steve tightens his hold on Natasha. “I hope she is,” he admits quietly. “I mean...it’s hard for her and all that, but...she’s not spending it alone.” He shrugs. “I think that counts for something, shouldn’t it?”

“It counts for everything.”

Steve then looks up at her, and she looks back at him. His eyes are a bit glassy, hazy probably from the mead he drank, yet at the same time it’s so... _ raw. _ His eyes show rawness and vulnerability, she holds her breath, because she  _ knows _ that look, is familiar with that look, and what’s about to come next. She feels her heart flutter, the warm pool in her stomach curling and growing bigger. She’s not ready for it. She’s not ready for what’s about to come next, and she  _ knows _ out of all the times it could happen, this time would be the perfect time because it’s Christmas—and Christmas is the time for honesty, for gratitude, hope and...love.

She doesn’t know if she’s ready for that yet.

“D’you remember that, a few months ago...Sokovia?” he asks her, and she blinks. “You and me when...when we were standing on the edge of the city, and...and we thought it was gonna be our last?”

She does. She remembers every bit of it.  _ There’s worse ways to go, _ she had said. She nods, and Steve smiles. “And you asked where...where else you were gonna get a view like that…” He chuckles, one that’s followed by a hiccup, and Natasha chuckles softly. “And then Fury came in...and we didn’t die.”

“We didn’t die.” Natasha repeats, laughing softly, and Steve smiles.

“I was ready, you know...ready like how I had been when...when I went under,” he admits quietly, and Natasha feels her heart aching. “I was ready…’cause I thought... _ wow, _ if you were the last thing I was going to look at before I go...I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Natasha’s throat constricts, and she swallows down. “Steve…” she says softly, her voice small, and Steve lifts his head, closing his eyes as he winces. But he doesn’t pull away, and his face is inches away from hers as he stares into her eyes. So raw, so vulnerable, hazy, glassy and…

And in love.

“You asked me once...once way before, before we went to Sokovia and Ultron happened and...and everything else, what I’d do if I were to die the next day,” he says quietly, and she nods slightly.  _ If you knew today would be your last, what would you do before you die? _ He didn’t answer during that time, told her she shouldn’t be thinking of those kinds of thoughts. “And I told you...I told you I didn’t know, and I didn’t wanna think about it.”

Steve pauses, and Natasha lets out a shaky sigh, feeling her heart beating fast against her chest. He blinks almost rapidly, his eyelids heavy—the effects of the mead finally manifesting fully, but he fights against it. He fights against it as he focuses his eyes on hers.

“When we were standing on the edge of the city, that’s when...that’s when I knew what I wanted to do,” he confesses quietly. “I would want to spend every minute with you,  _ just _ with you, looking at you, and...and holding you and…” He pauses, looking away slightly as he blushes slightly, and Natasha couldn’t help but huff out a small chuckle. “And loving you. Because I may not have much left in this world, but you...you mean a lot to me. I can’t lose you.”

He gives her a sheepish smile as he looks back up at her. “So I wanted to spend every minute...every second I had left with you,” he admits softly. “And I was ready...because I told myself it was how I wanted to spend the rest of my last few moments.”

“But we didn’t die.” Natasha tells him quietly, and he shakes his head.

“Doesn’t mean I change my mind. If anything it still...it made me want to spend  _ more _ minutes rather than my last,” he says, and Natasha sighs, looking away, but Steve’s hand draped around her stomach cups her face, his thumb brushing her cheek gently as she looks back up at him. “It’s all I still wanna do.”

Natasha’s eyes start filling with tears as she bites her bottom lip, and he gives her a small smile. “And I know it’s...it’s Christmas, and you’ve given me your Christmas gift already…” he says, and his smile widens. “But would you mind if I...if I ask you if you can give me your heart too on Christmas?”

Natasha’s mouth opens slightly and Steve giggles and then hiccups. “Weren’t you the one who’d always told me I shouldn’t be single this Christmas? Spend it...spend it with the right person?” He grins widely at her. “Well, I’m asking the right person now if...if she can spend it with me this year, and...and the rest of my life’s minutes too.”

Natasha can’t help but huff out a chuckle. “I didn’t know Captain Rogers would be so cheesy when he’s drunk.” she says lightly, and Steve laughs softly.

“Only with you,” he replies softly, his face inching closer to hers. “Everything...only with you.”

Natasha’s eyes flicker down to his lips. She’s not entirely sure if he’ll remember this when he wakes up the following morning,  _ not _ sure what she’d be feeling if he doesn’t, but it’s Christmas. And whether she admits it or not, she wants  _ him, _ wants his heart, and if he’s here openly giving it to her, then she’d take it. She’ll  _ gladly _ take it whatever it takes.

She closes her eyes as he presses his lips against hers, and suddenly the whole world narrows down to just  _ them. _ They barely register Tony screaming _Holy shit!_ and the whole team practically cheering, clapping, the shutter click of Tony’s and Clint’s cameras as they approach the two on the couch. She feels him smiling against her mouth as she kisses him back softly, slowly, cherishing the feel of his lips against hers, the newfound love they have of each other, the feeling of an exchange of hearts on Christmas evening.

She pulls away, and he smiles at her, his forehead resting on hers as he chuckles softly, closing his eyes. “I think I’m about to pass out,” he says, and Natasha laughs. “Stay with me until morning.”

“Okay,” Natasha answers softly as Steve rests his head on her shoulder, and she closes her eyes as she rests her head on his, her one hand resting over his heart. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

Steve hums sleepily. “Merry Christmas, Nat.”

_ No, _ she doesn’t tell everyone off. She figures this would also be  _ their _ Christmas treat coming from the two of them, and for once, she’ll let them have it.

* * *

_ 2019 _

Natasha turns and her face lights up when she sees Steve walking back inside the communal room. “There he is, there he is! I told you he was gonna come back!” she exclaims, and Steve chuckles as he sits down on the couch beside her, draping an arm on the back of the couch behind her as her smile fades and she narrows her eyes at him, pulling away slightly. “Where  _ have _ you been?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I went to check on James like you said.”

Natasha’s eyes widen, her eyebrows knitting together in utter confusion. “Who the  _ fuck _ is James?” she asks in a loud voice, that, if not for the whole team already passed out in different areas of the room (save for Clint half-passed out beside her), they would all look at her in surprise, confusion and fear.

Steve raises his eyebrows, and Clint chuckles beside Natasha. “Easy, Cap, she’s drunk. And when she’s beat drunk, she’s pretty damn forgetful.” he slurs, looking up at Steve. “The memory fades as the alcohol slowly takes over.”

Steve blinks his eyes, his mouth forming into a grin as Natasha just continues to scowl at him. “Are you seeing someone else, Rogers? And it’s a  _ man? _ That I do not  _ know _ of?” she exclaims, her voice practically shouting and scolding him as her words become more incoherent and slurred. Steve laughs softly and shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s not that.” he answers, and Natasha blinks rapidly, her frown fading as her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“I-I mean...I don’t mean to dictate who you’re going out with or something,” she says, and she looks at his eyes. “‘S just I’d appreciate if you tell me…‘cause it’s my project to make you not single on Christmas, remember?”

Steve laughs. It  _ was _ her project, her old project five years ago when they first started becoming partners in S.H.I.E.L.D., and she found out that he’s a free and single man  _ uninterested _ in dating. It’s how he ended up with dating almost half of the women in the organization because she couldn’t stop setting him up in multiple dates until he could “find the right person to spend the holidays with”. The project was cut short, of course, when the following Christmas, he happened to find someone to spend not only the holidays with, but every minute of his life with—much like what he told her  _ that _ fateful Christmas evening.

“I think you should know, Nat,” he tells her softly, lifting one hand to brush off the hair from her face. “I’m not single anymore.” Natasha’s eyes widen in surprise as his hand lingers on her cheek.

“Well, if you’re not single then why are you touching me like that?” she asks, frowning at him as she swats his hand off of her face, but then her eyes widen comically, as in sheer realization, and Steve couldn’t help a chuckle. “Unless...”

“You’re not single either,” Steve tells her softly with a smile. “Or so I hope you think you’re not.”

Natasha furrows her eyebrows, as if thinking and then she shakes her head. “I think I’m too drunk to do riddles right now, Rogers.” she slurs, and then Steve laughs, brushing his fingers through her hair and cupping her cheek lovingly, his thumb brushing gently on the spot under her eye.

“We’re together, babe,  _ married, _ in fact,” Steve tells her gently. “And James...James is our son.”

“We’re married? And we have a son?” she exclaims, her mouth hanging wide open and Steve laughs softly as he nods, inching himself closer to her. “That means I’ve  _ slept _ with you!” She looks at Clint who is watching them amusingly at the side. “I had  _ sex _ with America’s golden boy!”

“You sure did.” Clint mumbles, smirking, and Steve blushes.

“America planted its pole in Mother-fucking-Russia!” Natasha laughs, clapping her hands and Steve groans softly, shaking his head. Natasha turns back to Steve and gives him a three-finger salute. “God  _ bless _ America!”

“Nat.” Steve chides gently, shaking his head as his eyes flicker back to Clint who is just snickering at the side. He stands up from the couch and ruffles Natasha’s hair.

“And  _ that, _ my friends, is my cue to head out,” he says, chuckling. “Merry Christmas, lovebirds.”

Natasha hums as she looks up at Clint, flashing him a wide grin as Steve waves at him and Clint walks out. She turns back at Steve and tilts her head at him, giving a beautiful smile. “We have a son?” she asks again, and Steve chuckles as he nods.

“A beautiful little boy named James,” he answers softly, smiling at his wife. “We love him very much and very dearly, and he loves us back  _ so _ much too.”

Natasha blinks, and she pouts, her eyes suddenly feeling with tears as she looks up at him. “Why does thinking of him makes me cry?” she asks, her voice breaking and Steve laughs softly.

It’s a Natasha thing, he supposes. Ever since James was born last year (one year, and two days ago, if he was being specific and precise), every time somebody would ask Natasha about their son, she would start crying. At first, Steve had been scared and thought that she was upset of having a son, of having a  _ child. _ He asked her about this on the third time somebody in the team asked about how James is, and she ended up crying before she could even muster up an answer, but what she answered him was something that made his heart skip a beat and flutter with immense adoration and love for their small family.

“Because you love him so much it overwhelms you,” he tells her softly, echoing the same words she had told him that time when he asked. “We never thought we were going to have a son...let alone a child, and we became okay with that. We’ve long accepted that even before when we got married. But then...James happened, our little boy...he was a miracle. He’s  _ our _ Christmas miracle.”

Their little James was born two days before Christmas last year, and everyday since then has been an adventure for them since then. They love him dearly, Natasha most especially, as further evidenced by the overwhelming emotions and love she has for their little boy every time somebody would ask about him. He wonders when she would ever get over with—the crying every time somebody would ask about their son—but he figures there’s no rush in doing so, if only to show others how much she loves their son. After uttering singular words such as “wonderful” and “beautiful”, she would end up in tears because she was overwhelmed by her love for him.

And Steve muses that even if she had momentarily forgotten about him in her drunken stupor, her heart would  _ never _ forget about the love she has for him, and that, for Steve, is the  _ most _ beautiful thing he could ever learn about his wife.

Natasha blinks and she smiles as she inches herself closer to Steve who wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as he presses a soft kiss on her forehead. “Tell me more ‘bout him,” she tells him softly, resting her chin on his arm, and he smiles. “Tell me ‘bout James.”

Steve hums, his smile widening as he looks at his wife lovingly. “Well, I already told you he’s a beautiful little boy,” he tells her softly. “He’s got your red wavy hair and your nose, and he’s got my eyes and, well, like you said,  _ my _ smile whenever he looks at you and whenever he giggles.”

Natasha giggles too, and Steve laughs softly as she continues to listen attentively. “He loves cuddling with his Mommy and loves playing with his Daddy, and at some point a few months ago, he already called you his Mama when you came home from a mission. It was also the first time he was able to stand up ‘cause he wants you to pick him up,” he continues softly, and she hums, her eyes filling with tears once again as if she’s hearing all of it for the first time. “He loves hearing your voice whenever you sing or talk to him, and whenever you sing, he sometimes tries to join you, even if it’s a lullaby and he wouldn’t sleep because of how much he wants to sing along with you.”

She hums, leaning up to rub their noses together, and Steve smiles. “You tell him at least three times a day that you love him, and never wants to be far away from him for too long. In fact, just before you forgot about him, you asked me if I could check up on him since we put him back to bed two hours ago when you started drinking Thor’s drink,” he says, chuckling. “You said you can  _ feel _ he’s stirring and fussing, and when I came up, you were right. You’re  _ always _ right when it comes to him.”

“Am I...am I a good Mama?” she asks softly, and Steve nods.

“The  _ best _ one there is, and I’ve seen a lot of great mothers, even grew up with one,” he answers softly, leaning their foreheads together. “You’re the best Mommy James can ever have.”

Natasha giggles softly and hums. “So we...have a son, and we’re married,” she says, her words becoming more slurred and incoherent. “I’m... _ oh, _ thank God, that means I’ve  _ already _ told you!”

“Told me what?” he asks, chuckling, and Natasha grins.

“I was telling Clint...was telling him...that all I want for Christmas is your heart and...and your love…’cause I find you  _ pretty _ hot and  _ really _ sexy and nice and smart and...and good.” Steve chuckles softly at that. “So I was telling Clint that...I wanted to ask if you can give it to me,” she says, and Steve grins. “But if  _ we’re _ married...then that...that means I already  _ have _ it!”

“You  _ do _ have it,” he tells her softly, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. “You’ve had it since five years ago, sweetheart.”

“On Christmas too?” she asks, and Steve hums, nodding, and she smiles widely. “Yay.”

He remembers the conversation they had four Christmases ago that started everything they have now. _ If anything it made me want to spend more minutes rather than my last. It’s all I wanna do. _ He remembers the first kiss they shared like it had been yesterday, and while it took him a  _ while _ the following morning for him to remember everything (and that  _ while _ only made Natasha visibly heartbroken and upset, but not for long), thank goodness he did. It was the start of their story—a beautiful story about their quiet yet immense love for each other.

And Steve can’t help but chuckle, because like how he had been four Christmases ago, in her drunken state, she was as ready as he had been to confess her love for him.

“Steve?” Steve hums and looks at her, and Natasha smiles at him lovingly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he responds, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips, and she smiles against his mouth. “Merry Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I basically just made Christmas an excuse for writing more fluff. Hope you liked it, nonetheless! And I'm also opening more Christmas prompts so I can continue writing and posting at least during the period between Christmas and New Year too! Hope you have a merry Christmas, everyone!
> 
> P.S. Please also check out Romanoff's Anatomy (my latest work), and Modern Love series in my profile!


	40. The First Christmas Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 40\. Natasha gets her first Christmas tree, and so does little James.
> 
> “He remembers promising to himself to always give Natasha a Christmas tree, to always spend the holidays by her side, and to always keep the same smile she had on her face when she first looked at her first Christmas tree, all the days of his life, and all Christmases he has left in his lifetime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Christmas Eve where I am now, so before anything else, I just want to greet everyone a Merry Christmas! Please know that I am grateful for each and every one of you and I hope y’all have a wonderful holidays! Enjoy!

“First Christmas memory?” Sam asks all of a sudden. Him, Steve, Bucky and Natasha are sitting on the living room of their safehouse playing Monopoly. Natasha is gaining the upper hand, hoarding almost all of the properties and the guys’ money, and Bucky is near bankrupt, his face showing a frown and a playful glare at Natasha as his arms are crossed over his chest.

“Not getting beaten in Monopoly that’s for sure.” Bucky says, scowling at Natasha. The woman grins brightly at him, consequently making Steve smile brightly at Natasha, as Sam just snickers at the scene in front of him.

“You gonna buy a property, James?” Natasha teases lightly, raising an eyebrow and smirking as Bucky puts the thimble on a property space. Bucky glares at her.

“You are cruel, Romanoff,” Bucky says, then looks down at the gameboard. “I’m bankrupt, and I have  _ no _ more properties left to sell.” he whines.

“Barnes loses!” Natasha announces, flicking Bucky’s thimble away from the board and clapping her hands. Steve and Sam chuckle and Bucky narrows his eyes at Natasha who starts waving her hands in a mini victory dance. Steve watches fondly at the woman beside her, laughing softly as he turns back to the game.

“My Ma once bought me a wooden toy soldier,” Steve says, smiling as he rolls the dice. “I was about five, I think, and I was asking for it for so long but times were hard back then, especially when my father died. It was one of the best Christmases ever.” Steve smiles when he lands on the “Go” space, getting himself a 200-dollar play money from the bank.

“My Mom, Dad, sister and I went to see the lights in Times Square back then,” Sam says, retrieving and rolling the dice. “Then afterwards we lit our own tree.” He lands on the Jail space and shrugs.

“The tree was important, yeah,” Bucky says, watching as Natasha gathers the dice in her hands. “Steve knows how my sister, Becca was very particular with the tree, especially with the angel on top. I remember her crafting an angel when she was four, one we had that on top of the tree for  _ ten _ years.” Steve chuckles and Natasha’s mouth quirks upward.

“The tree was important.” Sam says, then turns to Natasha who lands on her own property. “What about you, Nat? Earliest Christmas memory before the Red Room?”

Natasha hums. “I’ve no memory before the Red Room,” she says lightly, almost nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. “But I do remember my first Christmas with the Bartons after I defected.” She smiles, and it was one of the brightest smiles the boys had ever seen on her. “It was about two years after I defected. Cooper was still just a baby, and Clint told me Laura wanted me to spend Christmas with them. We had a quiet celebration, just filled with stories, and them allowing me to hold and play with little Coop. It was my first time to celebrate Christmas, but it was also one of the best I’ve ever had during that time.”

“Best you’ve had was with Barton?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

“There weren’t Christmases in the Red Room,” Natasha says. “No holidays at all. Trainings still resume, and should there be any missions, it still pushes through. I’ve had Christmas missions, but obviously none of them were exactly the best and most ideal way to spend it.” She ducks her head and gives a side-eye to Bucky who gives her a small, almost apologetic smile as his eyes flicker back to the board.

“So you haven’t had your own tree?” Steve asks, rolling the dice once more. He lands on Natasha’s property, and he scowls when he pays her rent, which she accepts with a grin.

“Nope, unless you count the tree the Bartons put up whenever I spend Christmas with them.” Natasha replies.

“But you never had your  _ own _ tree to decorate? Like the one where you were the one to pick out and design by yourself?” Sam asks, and Natasha shakes her head, giving him the dice.

“But you’re supposed to design those things with your family.” Steve says, frowning.

“The Bartons are my family,” Natasha says, shrugging. “Besides, it’s really no big deal. It’s just a tree.” She smiles and raises an eyebrow at Sam as he lands on one of her properties. Sam grumbles, giving her some play money as Natasha laughs loudly in victory. 

“It’s not  _ just  _ a tree.” Steve mumbles, pouting. Natasha looks at him and she gives him a soft and gentle smile. Something in her eyes tells Steve that she agrees with him, but she doesn’t say anything further in the matter, and he respects that, so they eventually proceed with the game.

* * *

“Steve, where are we going?” Natasha asks, unable to contain her laughter as Steve pulls her by the hand in the forest, his huge backpack juggling behind his back like he’s a schoolboy excited for school. Natasha, meanwhile, looks around warily at their surroundings. They’re a good few kilometers away from their safehouse where they stay clandestinely, and Lord knows if Ross’ people have already tracked them down here already, but it’s better to stay safe and hidden. “We’re gonna get caught.”

“No, we’re not,” Steve says, grinning. He stops and lets go of her gloved hand, and she shivers at the lack of his warm touch in her hand. “We’re safe here.”

Steve looks at Natasha who’s wrapped in her brown trench coat, red scarf, blue bonnet and gloves. Her cheeks are pink because of the cold and her blonde wavy hair is already growing longer, the roots on her head returning back to her natural red. She looks beautiful, even as she’s wrapped up in thick and baggy winter clothes, that Steve has to fight the urge to cup her cheek and pull her into a kiss, so he turns instead to the forest in front of them.

He can’t do that to his best friend, not  _ yet _ , anyway.

“You said you’ve never had a tree in your life for Christmas, your own tree,” Steve says, smiling. “We’re a week away from Christmas, Nat, so this is your chance to have your own tree with your family, with  _ us _ .” Steve’s smile grows wider as Natasha laughs softly. He tips his head over at the forest. “Go take a pick for your tree.”

“But we agreed we won’t have Christmas decorations for our safehouse.” Natasha says, and Steve shakes his head, looking at her with sparkling blue eyes and his wide and beautiful smile. 

“I can’t celebrate Christmas knowing that my best friend has never had her own Christmas tree in her whole life,” Steve says softly, smiling, making Natasha’s heart flutter in her chest, causing her to smile and blush. But thank God for the cold, because then it would just make her cheeks naturally rosy. “I know this isn’t the most ideal time, since we’re on the run, and we’re wanted criminals and all that, but this time is better than none. Besides, people like us deserve to have a happy Christmas too, you know.” Steve smiles wider and Natasha laughs softly.

“We can always have our own Christmas tree after everything is over.” Natasha tells him softly.  _ Whenever that may be.  _ But Steve just smiles at her.

“Why not have it now?” he asks, looking back at her. “We don’t know when everything will be over, but...doesn’t mean we have to treat each day like we can’t be happy in it. Like we don’t deserve to celebrate real and authentic Christmas.”

It was true Natasha has never experienced a real authentic Christmas celebration, not that she can remember anyway. They never celebrated holidays in the Red Room, and her holiday gifts were mostly from men in her missions, to which she never really kept unless she found it valuable enough to be used for another mission, and even then, those presents meant nothing to her. The first real gift she got was an ugly sweater she still kept, during her first celebration with the Bartons almost a decade ago, and since then, she’s been spending the holidays with them. Some years, she would spend it alone in her own apartment, and in the past few years, she spent it with the Avengers, but this Christmas would be different, seeing as how the Accords tore them apart and forced the others, like her, into hiding.

It never really occurred to her that her situation was unusual. She actually liked hearing Christmas stories especially that from her friends, and she would never feel even a pang of jealousy. Sure, she wished she also received a toy from her parents when she was a kid, or crafted her own angel or star on top of a tree, or celebrated Christmas in Times Square watching the lights, but she had gone through so much in her young life that the thought of having missed holidays never really meant a huge deal to her; she was just lucky to be alive and not alone for now.

And so seeing Steve so worked up and practically begging her to get a tree for herself was both surprising and adorable, and how can Natasha say no to that?

“Okay, Steve,” Natasha says, softly, smiling. “How do you pick a tree?”

In the end, after two hours of searching through the forest for the “right tree”, Steve and Natasha walked back to the safehouse with Steve practically dragging a pine Christmas tree behind them. Steve has a huge grin on his face, and even Natasha admits that  _ she  _ can’t wipe the smile off her own face.

The door to their safehouse opens, and they see Bucky grinning widely at them by the door. “That’s a nice tree,” Bucky comments as soon as the two approaches the house. “Ready to decorate, Nat?” Bucky smiles as he walks over to the duo to help Steve carry the tree.

“We get to decorate?” Natasha asks, grinning widely, and feeling ridiculously young, childish, giddy and excited. She’s never done it before, decorate a tree with Christmas balls and paraphernalia, but the thought of doing it now excites her. Steve grins and nods as he looks over at Bucky who chuckles.

“Wouldn’t want to display a plain tree in the middle of the living room, am I right, Natalia?” Bucky asks, and Natasha laughs as she follows them inside the room.

“Besides,  _ you _ will get to decorate, we’ll just be helping you.” Steve says. They enter the living room, and Natasha finds Sam making space in their living room by moving their couch and small furniture for the tree. He looks up and smiles when he sees the tree and helps Bucky and Steve out in making the tree stand upright. Natasha sees boxes in front of the couch and smiles widely.

“Christmas tree decors and lights,” Sam says, when he sees Natasha looking at the boxes. “There are stars and angels there, other decorations we picked out too, whichever you prefer.”

“You can decorate each decoration too, if you want,” Steve adds. “Sam and Bucky bought a lot of glitter, glue and paper, all in multiple colors you can pick. I think they kinda went overboard in shopping for the design.” Steve gives Sam a pointed, but amused look.

“Hey, nothing’s too overboard for a first Christmas tree.” Sam says. The three men let go of the tree as it stands upright, and Natasha smiles, covering her mouth with one hand in  _ pure _ excitement and joy, as she looks at the tree— _ her _ tree that her friends, her family, had gotten for her. She’d thought that being on the run will make things change, make things gloomier and sadder than it already was. But she had long convinced herself that no change is unbearable as long as she has the people she loves by her side, and she does.

This is just an added bonus, a blessing that, for some twisted reason, she never thought she deserved.

“Wanna check out the boxes?” Bucky asks, pulling Natasha out of her own thoughts. She looks at him and nods, her smile becoming impossibly wider, and she lets out a soft laugh, the giddiness building up in her stomach.

“Yeah, of course.” she replies, grinning.

Later that night, Steve finds Natasha clad in her loose red sweater (that he really  _ thinks _ it’s his, and she’d stolen it from his clothes), black leggings and grey socks sitting on the floor just staring up at their newly-decorated Christmas tree. They spent two hours before dinner just decorating, bickering over which color of ball will go where, but in the end, they conceded to whatever Natasha’s decision was. The tree was filled with red and gold shiny Christmas balls, candy cane decorations and yellow Christmas lights. Bucky had practically begged Natasha to allow for gingerbread and red flowers decorations, and Natasha conceded because Bucky was already kneeling on the floor in front of Natasha.

“And I thought it was gonna be  _ my  _ Christmas tree.” she teased, and Bucky just grinned at her in response as he watched her hanging the gingerbread and red flowers decors on the tree branches...

It was up to her to decide on the design on top of the tree, so Natasha decorated four angels on it: one of which was a redhead, another was a blonde man, one of which was a black man with red wings, and another was an angel with a metal arm. It was the best and most beautiful Christmas tree she had ever seen.

And so there she is, half past midnight holding a cup of hot cocoa in her hands, her legs crossed as she sits on the floor just staring up and admiring the Christmas tree with a fond smile on her face. Steve smiles and grabs a quilt before walking beside Natasha.

“The tree’s beautiful.” Steve says, and Natasha smiles when she feels the quilt hang over her shoulder. She puts the cup of hot cocoa down and puts half of the quilt over Steve’s shoulders. She cuddles herself near Steve and takes the cup again in her hands.

“It’s better than the Bartons’ trees on the years I spent with them.” Natasha replies, leaning her cheek on Steve’s arm as he pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around it. He looks up and smiles as he stares at the top decoration: the four of them as angels on top of the tree.

They stay in silent just watching the tree, cherishing the warmth of the other’s presence beside them. Natasha’s heart won’t stop fluttering at the gratefulness, giddiness and happiness she’s feeling inside, and Steve is just plain happy to be here with her. They have gone through so much last year, and both are ready to move forward, so as long as they have each other by their side.

“I’ve never had a real Christmas before with my family,” Natasha says softly, and Steve shifts his head to look at her. “The last time I had that was with the team, and that was taken away from me too.” Natasha sighs, snuggling closer beside Steve. He shifts and wraps an arm around Natasha’s shoulder under the quilt, and her head rests on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of lemongrass and chocolate of his sweater.

“I wish you see us as your family, Nat—see  _ me  _ as your family.” Steve responds quietly. Natasha looks up at him and smiles softly, a smile only he has the genuine pleasure to see and witness in moments like these.

“You  _ are _ my family, Steve,” Natasha answers. “And my home. And…” she trails off and looks away, turning back to the tree. Steve sees her cheeks turn light pink, and he’s certain that it has nothing to do with the cold. She still has a small smile on her face. Steve’s heart flutters, and he smiles as well.

“And?” Steve prompts softly. Natasha looks up at him, her smile getting wider.

“And maybe when the time is right, and when...when  _ things _ go right, you can find a home in me too..maybe something more as well.” Natasha says. Steve grins and presses a kiss on Natasha’s forehead, as she leans her head again on Steve’s shoulder.

“You already  _ are _ my home, Nat.” Steve answers, smiling as he rests his cheek against the top of her head. He silently promises to himself that he would always give Natasha a Christmas tree in the holidays, spend every Christmas with her, and make sure that the smile she has on her face will still be there even as years would pass by.

* * *

Steve takes a deep breath as he stops in front of their humble abode in Wakanda. He feels his heart flutter in his chest even as he is just fishing out the keys from his coat pocket, balancing the bag of last-minute groceries he has in one arm, and he chuckles to himself, feeling like an idiot just smiling as he tries to unlock the front door of the room. He can’t help himself. He can’t help the smile forming on his face as he thinks about what he’s gonna see once he pushes the door open and lets himself in.

A Christmas bell hanging above their doorway dingles as he pushes the door open, signalling his return, and he kicks the door back close. He puts the ring of keys on the bowl by the entrance door and walks through the decorated hall leading to the halls of the room.

“Sweetheart, I’m back.” he calls, turning to the set dining area and putting the bag of groceries down. The plates are still untouched, but he sees the food he and his wife had been cooking before he left are stored in the oven so it wouldn’t get cold.

He hears soft murmurs and a light giggle coming from the living room, and he lets out a smile. He turns and walks over to the living room, where he sees his wife, clad in matching sweaters as he and their son are in, and black leggings, sitting on the rug in front of the Christmas tree, with their five-month-old son on her lap. Said five-month-old is the source of the giggles he had heard inside the dining room when he just came in, and the redheaded woman that is his wife had been too enamored, too engrossed in their Christmas tree and their son to even hear him enter.

It makes his stomach do flips, makes his heart want to explode with all the love he has for his family.

Natasha’s head turns, as if sensing somebody is watching, and her smile widens when she spots her husband. “Look, little one, Daddy’s home,” she says softly, pressing a kiss on the five-month-old as the infant coos and slowly lifts his head from his mother’s chest, turning to find his father smiling at him by the living room doorway. He gurgles, stretching his arm to his father as he lets out a soft squeal and giggle. “Daddy’s home just in time for Christmas dinner.”

“I wasn’t out too long,” Steve says with a chuckle, as he walks over to his family, sitting beside Natasha, who hums and smiles up at him as he leans in to press a chaste kiss on her lips. “Just got some more stuff because Mommy insisted on getting  _ more _ stuff.” He leans to press a soft kiss on James’ forehead as the baby laughs, grabbing Steve’s face with his chubby hands as Steve gathers him, pressing another kiss on the baby’s cheek before settling him on his lap.

Natasha smiles as she watches her boys, and she looks back up at the Christmas tree standing in their living room, as Steve watches her fondly with a smile. Since the start of December, Natasha had gathered as many decorations as she can have that are found in all Christmas stores in Wakanda, and with Shuri’s help, she was able to gather about two huge boxes full of Christmas trinkets and paraphernalias she can hang around their small abode in the palace, and in the Christmas tree as well. She had dedicated almost the entire month up until Christmas evening to make sure their tree would be “perfect enough”, especially for their son’s first Christmas.

Since having her own Christmas tree two years ago, the one Steve, Bucky and Sam had given her, she had always been so excited and looking forward to Christmas, hoping she can build yet again another perfect Christmas tree that can trump the previous one.

“D’you like the tree?” Natasha asks softly, looking up at Steve beside him, and he smiles at her.

“I like you more,” he says, and she frowns slightly, though he sees a slow blush creeping in her cheeks as he laughs softly. “I  _ love _ it, and I love you.”

“Such a sap,” Natasha mumbles, unable to keep the smile off her face as she looks at her husband. “I think Jamie likes the tree too.” She looks down at their son who looks up at his mother with wide blue eyes at the mention of his name, and she smiles. “Yes, I think Jamie loves the tree too, don’t you, little one?” she coos, rubbing her nose against James’ small one.

James giggles and claps his small hands as the parents chuckle softly. Steve smiles and hums, pulling James closer to him as Natasha looks back up at him. “Not yet hungry?” he asks softly, and she shakes her head.

“Just wanna stay here for a while,” she says, looking back up at the tree as she leans against her husband. “Just a little while longer.”

Steve chuckles softly. “Okay.” he says softly, looking back up at the tree as well.

It quickly became a thing for them on Christmas—just looking at the Christmas tree, admiring it, remembering the process of building it and decorating it, the in-between laughter and banters that occurred as it nearly completed. Steve’s not entirely sure what runs through Natasha’s head as she looks up at their Christmas tree, but as for him, he just remembers all these small moments that are built on the goal of decorating the tree. He remembers her giddy smile, her melodious laughter, the way she tells him which decoration goes up or not, and the way her face lights up the moment Steve plugs the lights on. He remembers all these things, and he continues to be thankful for all of these things as well.

But mostly as he looks up at the tree, he remembers the promise he had made to himself two years ago when he brought her her first Christmas tree. He remembers promising to himself to always give Natasha a Christmas tree, to always spend the holidays by her side, and to always keep the same smile she had on her face when she first looked at her first Christmas tree, all the days of his life, and all Christmases he has left in his lifetime.

The years passed, and on Christmas last year, he made himself an additional promise to keep the same promises he had for their son. And as he looks down at the little boy sitting contentedly on his lap, also looking up in awe at the bright tree in front of him, he feels his heart flutter and flip with so much love.

“Steve,” Natasha says softly, and Steve looks back at her with a smile. “Thank you.”

Steve smiles. “For what?” he asks, and she grins wider.

“For the best Christmas ever.” she answers, and he chuckles softly.

“You say that every year, sweetheart.” he says, and she laughs softly.

“And it just keeps on getting better and better.” Natasha says, and Steve hums, leaning to press a kiss on her lips, as Natasha kisses him back.

“I love you,” he murmurs against her mouth. “Merry Christmas, Nat.”

“Merry Christmas, Steve.” she replies softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, reviews, comments, kudos and prompts (in freeform!) are super appreciated! Don’t forget to also check out Romanoff’s Anatomy and all my other works too.
> 
> Merry Christmas, everyone!


	41. Christmas in New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 41\. Steve spends a Christmas away from his family.
> 
> "“The latter one sounds more accurate,” he says, and she smiles. “Are we just gonna talk about mercs and bad guys? You’re making me feel bad about not being there at all.” “Well, I had nothing in mind because I didn’t know you were calling. I was planning to go to sleep,” she says, smirking. “But apparently you had other plans in mind, so I guess I wouldn’t be sleeping either.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically just FLUFF and nothing else. I hope you still enjoy, though! This is to make up for all the angsty Christmas chapters I've been posting. YAYY enjoy!

Natasha smiles, brushing the red curls off of James' forehead as the three-year-old smiles sleepily up at his mother, his eyes blinking heavily as he lets out a yawn and Natasha chuckles softly. She leans down to press a soft kiss on the boy's forehead, and he lets out a hum and contented sigh, snuggling further in his mother's chest as his hand clutches on Natasha's shirt.

"Love you, Mommy." he says softly, and Natasha laughs softly, feeling her heart flutter and leap inside her chest as she leans down to rub her nose against his, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose as the toddler giggles softly.

"I love you too, little one," she replies softly, pressing another kiss on James' forehead. "I love you  _ so _ much." Another kiss on the tip of his nose. "I love you  _ this _ much." Another kiss on his cheek, and the toddler laughs, his bright blue eyes sparkling as he looks up at his mother, his head resting in her arms.

_ A spitting image of his father, especially when he smiles and looks at her. _

"When will Daddy come home?" he asks softly, and Natasha's smile falters, feeling a slight pang of pain in her chest at the mention of his father—her husband—being gone off on a mission on such a crucial time of the year.

_ It wasn’t his choice, _ she had to tell herself over and over again.  _ If it had been, he wouldn’t have gone, he wouldn’t have agreed. _ He’d been gone since the 21st, and is due to come back on the 31st, a few hours before the New Year. So far, he had missed his son’s third birthday on the 23rd, and Christmas, today, on the 25th. He had attempted to bargain and refuse, but then again, mercenaries and villains tend to disagree on bargaining and compromise if it meant a delay on their evil plans to hurt people and destroy the world. They tend to have a blatant disregard for the holidays just like that.

“He’ll be home before New Year, baby,” she answers patiently. “Before the fireworks, d’you remember those? The big colorful flowers we once saw in the sky last year?”

Natasha smiles at that, because she still remembers when they watched it last year. James had just turned two, and he had become so scared of the loud banging of the fireworks that he began crying as he tucked his face in his father’s neck. Tony had to activate noise proof of their floor’s bedroom window so James would just be able to watch the colors of the fireworks. The toddler had eventually calmed down, and watched the colors explode in pure awe that he had to persuade his Uncle Tony to let out more fireworks so he can watch more colors in the sky.

“Yeah, the big flowers with lots of colors!” James says, and Natasha grins as she nods.

“Daddy’s going to come home just in time for that,” she tells him, and the toddler hums and smiles widely. “But he’s going to call again tomorrow, of course.” Because he’s never missed a phone calls in the four days he had been gone so far, and they had just ended their call with him earlier today, when they wished one another Merry Christmas during the team’s Christmas brunch.

“Okay,” James replies sleepily, and Natasha hums, pressing another kiss on his forehead. She brings up one hand, and with her pinky finger, smooths it down on the slope of her son’s nose, and the toddler yawns again, his eyes blinking heavily. “‘M excited for tomorrow, Mommy.”

“Yeah?” Natasha asks softly, smiling as she sees James nod, fighting off sleep even as she strokes the bridge of his nose—a technique that usually puts the toddler to sleep. “Wanna tell Mommy why?”

James hums. “‘Cause Daddy’s gonna call,” he says softly, and he lets out a yawn. “And maybe I can ask him to come home early.” He opens his eyes and smiles sleepily at his mother. “So you won’t be alone when I say night night.”

“Oh my sweet boy,” Natasha says, feeling her heart do somersaults in her chest as she presses a soft kiss on James’ forehead. “I have you. I’m never alone, even when you say night night.”

“Yeah, but…” he trails off, and he lets out a soft giggle. “You snuggle me, and Daddy is supposed to snuggle you.” he says, and Natasha chuckles softly. “I want Daddy to snuggle with you too.”

Now  _ that _ just made Natasha’s heart melt, as she presses another soft kiss on James’ nose, and the toddler just giggles sleepily. “Then I guess you better sleep now so tomorrow will come faster,” she says, and the boy hums as his eyes close. “Good night, Jamie. I love you.”

“Night night, Mommy,” he responds sleepily, letting out another small yawn. “Love you.”

Natasha hums the usual lullaby she has for James, as she watches fondly at her son sleeping in her arms. Once his breathing had become steady, and she is sure that James is  _ indeed _ asleep, Natasha gets up from the couch and into his room, where she puts him down on his bed, lifting his navy blue comforter up until his chin, and pressing another soft kiss on his hair.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” she whispers, brushing his hair gently and pressing another kiss on his forehead before she gets up, turning his night light on and smiling when she sees all of the Avengers’ symbols in a soft orange glow emitted by the night light spread all over the room. She spots Tony’s arc reactor symbol above his dresser, Clint’s mask on the ceiling, along with Thor’s hammer and Bruce’s raised Hulk fist. Her smile widens, though, when she spots Steve’s shield, and her hourglass symbol just above the headboard of James’ bed, as if a symbol of how Captain America and Black Widow will always watch over and protect their son even in his sleep.

She makes a mental note to thank Tony for the beautiful birthday gift (well,  _ one _ of the beautiful birthday gifts—which are separate from the Christmas gifts!) that is the night light, as her eyes flicker back to her sleeping son. She smiles, closing his bedroom door behind her gently and quietly.

Natasha sighs as she looks back at the large window by the living room. She takes the time to watch the evening’s snowfall, and she smiles, allowing herself to remember all the Christmases she had spent with Steve where they would just snuggle on their bed, or on a couch—wherever they are—in front of a window, at this time of the evening just to watch the snowfall. She allows herself to remember the warmth of his embrace, and the ghost of soft kisses on her neck and on her hair as she would hum and just watch the white flakes fall against the window. She remembers her usually teasing Steve for a snowball fight the following day because as she watches the snowfall, she will remember the cold and the soft feel of the snow against her body, and he would tease her back, telling her she'd just lose in a snowball fight. They haven't done it this year, obviously, which is fine, but she just wishes next year, they'll still hold that tradition into fruition.

She tears her eyes off of the window, and looks around at the abandoned and ripped gift wraps and few unopened presents still spread all over the floor. She takes the time to pick the wrappers up to dispose of them in the trash, and rearrange the gifts that are meant to be for Steve (and some of which are meant to be for  _ both _ of them as a couple, but Natasha insists on opening it when Steve gets back) back under the Christmas tree. She smiles as she looks at the small Christmas tree the three of them had decorated, standing inside their living room, before she turns and walks back to their bedroom to prepare for bed as well.

She had just finished her night shower when she hears her phone ring. She furrows her eyebrows slightly, wrapping the towel around her hair as she puts on a bathrobe. She grabs her phone by the bathroom sink, and the corner of her mouth twitches to a smile when she presses on her phone and puts it on her ear. “Hey, soldier.” she greets cooly, smiling.

“Hi,” comes in Steve’s breathy reply, sending a fresh set of live butterflies inside her stomach, making her smile widen as she pads out of their bathroom, closing the door behind it as she watches the automatic lights turn off, and then she turns to the bedroom.  “Is it still Christmas in New York?” he asks.

Natasha chuckles softly and smiles. “Yeah, yeah it still is.” she responds softly, and he hums.

“Well, Merry Christmas again.” he greets, chuckling, and Natasha laughs softly.

“Merry Christmas again,” she responds. “What made you call again tonight?”

“I just...I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.” he answers quietly, and she smiles.

“I miss you too,” she answers softly, sitting on the edge of their bed and untangling the towel from her hair. “What time is it there?” she asks, looking up at the clock on their bedroom wall. It’s 9:45 in the evening here in New York, so it must be around—

“A quarter to four in the morning,” Steve says with a chuckle, and Natasha hums, smiling. “I know it’s...it’s a little too early here. It's not even Christmas anymore.” Natasha chuckles.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, and she hears a sigh on the other line.

“You know I can’t,” he tells her softly. “It’s Christmas there, but _not_ here. And I missed Christmas with my family.”

He sounds upset,  _ genuinely  _ so that Natasha’s heart clenches inside her chest. “And I missed my boy’s birthday,” he adds quietly. “Was he...was he upset I wasn’t there?”

“Oh, Steve,” Natasha says softly, shaking her head as she runs her fingers through her damp wavy hair. “You know he wasn’t. He just missed you, that’s all, but he’s not upset.” She pauses and bites her bottom lip. “I mean...it would’ve been better if you were there, but...you know our little boy can never be upset with you.”

“He  _ will _ be in the future, if he remembers this,” he says quietly, and Natasha sighs. “When he finds out I missed a birthday...he’ll be upset.”

“No, he won’t. Because  _ you _ won’t be missing any of his birthdays and Christmases anymore, okay?” Natasha tells him. “You won’t, and you trust me on that, okay?”

Natasha hears a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “I was about to say you don’t know that, but then I remember every time I say it, you always end up being right.” he tells her, and she laughs softly.

“Guess you ended up marrying the right woman.” she teases lightly.

“You know you’ve always been the right one for me,” he replies, and she smiles and hums. “I still can’t sleep though.”

Natasha laughs. “Honey, your day is gonna start in an hour. I don’t think it’s a good idea if you go back to sleep,” she tells him. “The mercs and bad guys don’t sleep.”

“Obviously. They also don’t take their holidays either,” he replies. “Makes you wonder what they do in their free time.”

“Probably terrorize for fun, or  _ you know, _ rid superheroes off of their holidays with their families.”

“The latter one sounds  _ more _ accurate,” he says, and she smiles. “Are we just gonna talk about mercs and bad guys? You’re making me feel bad about not being there at all.”

“Well, I had nothing in mind because I didn’t know you were calling. I  _ was _ planning to go to sleep,” she says, smirking. “But apparently  _ you _ had other plans in mind, so I guess I wouldn’t be sleeping either.”

“We’re basically soulmates.” Natasha huffs out a chuckle and shakes her head.

_ “You _ just don’t want me to sleep either, you’re ridding me off of my sleep just ‘cause you’re not getting any tonight.”

“Thought you’re supposed to be on my side with this, Nat.”

Natasha laughs again and she hears Steve’s laugh on the other line as well. She hears something shuffling on the other line and she sighs. “I just put Jamie to bed. I let him stay up a little later ‘cause it’s Christmas, and Tony and Pepper let Morgan stay up too so they were just playing,” she says, and he hums. “He’s excited for you to call him tomorrow, by the way, so you  _ have _ to call tomorrow.”

“You know I won’t forget,” he says, and she can hear the smile that is also laced in his voice. “Did he say why he’s so excited for the call? Any special requests on what I’m bringing from Andorra?”

“Hm, he’ll tell you himself. Nothing too big, something you can  _ definitely _ bring him if you try hard enough.”

“Is he gonna ask me to come home early?” Natasha hums.

“You’re gonna find out why, though,” she tells him, smiling as she remembers the  _ exact _ words of her son on why he wanted his father to come home immediately:  _ You snuggle me, and Daddy is supposed to snuggle you. I want Daddy to snuggle with you too. _ “Which is the  _ best _ part, at least for me.”

“Oh God, does he want a sibling for Christmas?”

_ “Steve!” _ Natasha chides, laughing loudly. “James doesn’t  _ know _ about the mechanisms of creating babies yet!”

“How would  _ I _ know? Tony could’ve told him already, for all we know!” Steve says, laughing, as Natasha shakes her head and chuckles, unable to keep the smile off her face.

“No, he’s not asking for a sibling,” Natasha says, letting out a small laugh. “Though can  _ I _ ask for another baby?”

“I mean, you know I’m always down to do it, Nat,” he says, and she grins. “But I don’t know if  _ you’re _ up to giving birth again. It’s  _ your _ call.”

Natasha contemplates for a moment, but she just hums and shrugs. “Wouldn’t mind another baby,” she says, and Steve just chuckles softly, as Natasha hears more shuffling on the other line, and a soft grunt from Steve. “You getting up from bed to start your day?”

“Yeah, you’re right I can’t go back to sleep,” he says, and she hums, as she starts running her fingers through her damp hair spread on her pillow. “I mean...might as well, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Gotta get ready to kick the asses of those who took you away from your family on Christmas.”

“I’m excited to beat them up and finish the job.” He chuckles, and she smiles.

There’s a moment of silence between them, and Natasha just sighs and closes her eyes. “Steve?” she calls softly.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he responds softly.

“Promise me next Christmas you’ll be here with me,” she says softly. “You’ll be here with us. And you won’t spend James’ birthday and Christmas away from us anymore.”

“Nat…”

“I thought I’d get used to spending another Christmas alone, since I’ve done it all of my childhood but…” she trails off, feeling the corners of her eyes stinging and her chest constricting. “Well, years of spending Christmas with you just makes it so impossible to imagine Christmas  _ without _ you, especially since Christmas is  _ our _ holiday. It’s supposed to be  _ our _ day.”

“I know, sweetheart.” he says softly.

“Promise me, okay?” she asks, and she hears the padding of feet against the floor on the other line, and she imagines Steve maybe getting out of his hotel room and into the kitchen to make himself some tea and prepare himself some toast or whatever it is he has in the hotel room pantry. “Promise me you won’t spend another Christmas apart from us anymore. That  _ you _ being here will be your present for me and Jamie next year. And it'll be the _best_ present you can give to us.”

“Then I think I gotta ask for help from you to turn down these missions more,” he says with a soft chuckle. “But I  _ promise, _ Nat. I promise, okay? No more Christmases apart.”

Natasha smiles at that, and she swallows as she feels her heart leap inside her chest. “No more Christmases apart.” she repeats softly.

There’s another pause at the other line. “Nat?” She hears Steve call him softly again.

“Yeah, honey?”

“It’s still Christmas in New York, right?” he asks, and Natasha lets out a soft chuckle.

“Yeah, honey, it is.”

“Good.” he says softly, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly in confusion.  She's about to ask why, but the door to their bedroom suddenly opens, and Natasha immediately sits up, her phone still pressed against her ear, gasping softly as she sees Steve, dressed in a white wool sweater she recognized it to be the one she had given him  _ long _ ago and black pants, his phone pressed on one ear, smiling widely at her, his bright blue eyes sparkling as he looks at her. She feels her eyes filling with tears, the corners of her mouth turning up into a smile. “‘Cause I don’t really plan on breaking my tradition of spending Christmas with you.” he says.

“Steve.” she whispers, smiling as she drops her phone and gets up from the bed. Steve puts his phone back into his back pocket as he walks over to the side of the bed where Natasha is, wrapping his arms around Natasha’s waist and pulling her close for an embrace. Natasha laughs softly, wrapping her arms around Steve’s neck and burying her face in the crook of his neck.

“But  _ how? _ How’d...I thought you were going back on the 31st.” she asks, one hand running up the back of his neck, then on the back of his head, feeling his smooth blonde hair against her hand, because _God,_ she missed him, and she never thought she would be with him on Christmas.

“Didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas without me, hm?” he asks against her damp hair, and she laughs softly, as Steve tightens his hold on his wife. “I got the job done early. Fury let me come home once he said it’s clear.” He shrugs. “Guess I gave these mercs and bad guys an opportunity to spend holidays properly as well.” he jokes lightly.

Natasha laughs softly, pressing a kiss on his cheek before burying her face again on his neck. “My hero.” she says softly, and Steve hums, pressing a kiss on her hair.

“Think you can let me spend Christmas with you, still?” he asks softly. “Even if it’s a bit late?”

“You’re never late,” she says, pulling away from him slightly to rest her hands on either side of her face as she smiles up at him. “Always,  _ always _ with the perfect timing.” She leans up to press a kiss on his lips, and he hums against her mouth, kissing her back softly yet so passionately. 

“I’ve missed you,” Steve murmurs against her mouth, and she hums, pulling away slightly and resting her forehead against his as he smiles at her. “I’m never spending another Christmas without you, and  _ definitely _ not another without Jamie.”

“Another? You’re here now, aren’t you?” she teases with a chuckle, and Steve laughs softly, pecking her lips softly. “And I’ve missed you, and James did too. He’ll be thrilled to see you here tomorrow, you know?”

Steve hums. “I can imagine,” he replies softly, and Natasha smiles, pressing another chaste kiss on Steve’s lips as she pulls herself closer to him. “I’m sorry I missed most of Christmas.” he adds softly.

Natasha shakes her head, her thumbs brushing on his cheeks gently. “No more, okay? You’re here now, it’s all that matters. And it’s still Christmas in New York, after all.” she says softly, and he laughs, nodding.

“Thank _God_ it’s still Christmas in New York.” he says, as he leans down to press a soft kiss on his wife’s lips.

Steve hums, pulling his wife closer to him as he tightens his embrace around her. Natasha rests her head on her husband’s chest, as Steve rests his head on hers, both of them watching the snowfall on Christmas outside the window of their bedroom, at the warmth of their each other's embrace. They'd still spend their Christmas with each other after all, fulfilling their tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not ~entirely~ sure, but I think this will be my last chapter to post before 2019 ends (might post a NY fic on New Year itself—at least in where I am) since I'm gonna be off to spend the rest of the year up in the mountains hiking, and being a recluse (kidding!) and internet-less. So while we're at it, I hope you guys had a fruitful and wonderful Christmas, and a happy new year! Here's to more oneshots and more SteveNat content in 2020!
> 
> Also don't forget to read my other works! Romanoff's Anatomy will be updated by a friend before the year ends so hope you guys stick around for that!


	42. First Kiss Since 1945?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 42\. Steve and Natasha's first New Year's Eve kiss.
> 
> "“That bad, huh?” he asks teasingly, repeating the same reply he told her the year before on their very first kiss, and she chuckles, shrugging. “Could use a little more practice,” she says, leaning to press another chaste kiss on his lips, and she smirks teasingly. “I could offer you my services for the rest of the year, I suppose.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of fluff to start the year! Happy new year, you guys! And I hope you enjoy this little oneshot!

It is New Year’s Eve—the third New Year’s Eve he'd been spending with the team—and as Steve looks from where he is standing and leaning by the bar counter of the ballroom in the Tower, he immediately spots her. He first spots, of course, the unmistakably fiery red hair braided into a crown on her head (courtesy of Wanda, as she had been proud to announce and showcase her work to everyone when she entered the ballroom with Natasha) standing out of all the heads he sees in the room. Then he begins to notice her white long dress, sequined and off the shoulder with a deep v-cut on her chest, and the high slit exposing her smooth and cream leg.

She is beautiful tonight, but then again, she had  _ always _ been so beautiful.

She is laughing with Maria and Pepper, listening intently as Pepper talks, and he feels his heart hammering inside his chest as he watches her throw her head back as she laughs, exposing her bare creamy neck and her pearl white, perfect teeth. Even from afar, he can hear her laughter, one that raises the hair at the back of his neck, one that sends his heart beating a million miles per hour, especially as he feels himself smiling just hearing her laugh and watching her smile, her eyes bright and sparkly as she continues to nod and talk to the women.

She is gorgeous, incredibly so—a standout in every room she is in, especially tonight where they all are right now. He’s been aware of her beauty since the day he first laid his eyes on her, of course, and he’s positive that she is also aware of her  _ own _ beauty as well (she isn’t called the Black Widow for nothing, after all). But as the days, months, and even  _ years _ pass, he finds it increasingly difficult to ignore such beauty, especially if the beauty Natasha holds is not only evident and obvious on the outside, but is also massively within her as well, especially that in her heart. And at this point, he is  _ way _ past the point of denying to himself how much he is incredibly captivated, attracted and  _ so  _ in love with the beauty she has inside and out.

He is  _ way _ past the point of denying how much he is in love with her.

She turns and her eyes meet his, and she smiles at him—a smile so beautiful, so  _ different _ because her green eyes are sparkling a little differently when she looked at him, yet still so beautiful nonetheless, one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing in his entire life—and he smiles back as he raises his glass of whiskey at her, and she winks at him, raising her champagne glass before turning back to the girls.

“You know,” Steve hears a smooth familiar voice behind him. “I think she’d appreciate more if you’d approach her, give her a New Year’s kiss and all that,” Steve turns at his best friend’s voice and he chuckles softly, just as Bucky smirks, drinking from his beer bottle. “It’s about damn time anyway, for both of you.”

“That obvious, huh?” he asks, and Bucky snorts, chuckling as he takes another swig from his beer.

“It’s killing everyone, man,” he says, shaking his head as he takes a step forward towards Steve, who completely turns his attention to his best friend. “So do everyone—including her and you—a favor and go make a move. Nothing like a little spark of romance to start the year, you know?”

Steve doesn’t get to reply, because Tony suddenly announces the start of the countdown, and the rest of the guests immediately begin to file towards the balcony to watch the fireworks. Bucky winks at Steve, giving him a pat on the shoulder, as he walks past Steve to whisk Wanda away from Sam, Rhodey and Clint, so they can watch the fireworks together by the balcony along with the other guests present. But Steve stays put, his eyes trained towards Natasha, who also stays where she is, watching contentedly at her friends moving towards the balcony, as the thirty-second countdown begins. Steve finds that he couldn't care less about the fireworks and the beauty it shows to welcome the new year—what he's looking at is _way_ more beautiful than those things, and welcoming the new year with her would be a _much_ more better pleasure than watching different colors explode in the sky.

_ Give her a New Year’s kiss and all that. _

Steve had never been one to initiate kisses, not since in his life before he went under the ice, and especially  _ not _ since when he woke up three years ago from the ice. He’s always been the one who was kissed first by a woman, and then he’ll simply kiss back, and most of the time, if it wasn’t for an undercover mission, it wasn’t with someone he wanted to kiss, and who he wanted to kiss was only one woman—his partner, his best friend, the woman who currently owns his heart even without knowing it.

She is the same woman just standing a few metres from him, smiling contentedly as she listens to the countdown, as she continues to resign herself by just watching from where she is rather than squeeze herself in the crowd in front of the balcony.

They had kissed, of course, but then again, it was  _ not _ in the most ideal setting (they were on the run from Hydra, and a few hours after which they almost died—not  _ really _ the most ideal setting for a kiss), and she was the one who kissed  _ him _ first. It frustrates him for a reason—that their first kiss wasn’t perfect, wasn’t the most ideal, as it went against everything he’d ever dreamed of for a first kiss with the woman he loves.

He’s determined to make it right tonight.  _ Nothing like a little spark of romance to start the year, _ like Bucky had said.

So on the ten-second mark, he puts his glass of whiskey by the counter and walks up to her, and she looks up at him, her eyes wide and expecting, and pretty much confused, because there he was, his hands stopping mid-way before he can even cup her cheeks, his mouth hanging slightly open as if he’s about to say something, and his face leaning slightly closer to her— _ wanting _ to kiss her, but he couldn’t.

He  _ couldn’t, _ because he’s not the type of man to just swoop a woman and kiss her, especially not without knowing if it’s okay with her. He may be human, who has emotions, feelings and _desires,_ but he likes to think that he is first and foremost a gentleman, raised with manners and with high regard and respect for women, by a good woman, and he will continue to maintain that.

“Nat, I…” In the background, the five-second countdown begins, and Natasha blinks up at him, and he smiles as he takes a deep breath. “Can I kiss you tonight?”

And there is an absolute look of confusion all over Natasha’s face, even when the fireworks began and everyone starts cheering, embracing and kissing as they welcome the New Year. But the room blurs, and all noise dies down, as she focuses on him, and on  _ him _ alone—on Steve Rogers, and his simple request if he could kiss her tonight, something she never thought nor ever fathom she would ever hear. It sounds absurd at first, and it's really not because she’s never been kissed at all. She  _ had _ kissed men,  _ had _ been kissed by plenty of them, but that was the point, wasn’t it? All her life, all men who  _ have _ kissed her just assumed that she just wanted to be kissed—that it was alright for them to swoop her up in their arms and kiss her senseless, and it wasn’t like she minded, because over time, she thought of it as the norm: that she was a woman who just  _ has _ to accept the kiss, is obliged to kiss back when a man kisses her because it’s part of the mission, or it’s just how she was told to do, and she never really had a choice or say in the matter. It was something she never really thought would be  _ that _ big of a deal—for her to have a say or a choice in these kinds of things because, after all, it was _just_ a kiss .

But here is a man in front of her—her partner, her best friend and confidant, a man she had found herself falling in love with—someone she had once kissed,  _ had _ kissed her back quickly and briefly for a mission, his eyes wide and raw and beautiful, asking  _ her _ if it would be okay that he would kiss her tonight, on a special occasion outside of a mission as they welcome a brand new year. Even as she can see it in his eyes how much he so  _ wanted _ to immediately swoop her in his arms and kiss her senseless just like all those men who had done it to her before, he still took the time to ask her if she’s okay with it, if she  _ wants _ to, just as much as he wants to.

But that was the point here, wasn’t it? She had fallen in love with not just  _ any _ other man—she had fallen in love with Steve Rogers, and as if she can’t ever fall any harder for him, especially after tonight.

So she just smiles, her gaze softening at him as she nods. “Yes...yes, of course.” she tells him softly.

He smiles, and he raises his hands to gently cup her face, his thumbs stroking smoothly on the apples of her cheeks as he smiles widely down at her, and she smiles back up at him, as she rests a hand on top of his. Then he leans down, brushing his lips against hers, and she smiles until he presses his lips to hers in a soft kiss. She closes her eyes and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him close as he smiles against her mouth, his lips moving in sync with hers. 

This kiss is soft, sweet and gentle, much like the man who is giving the kiss, and much like the man, it is definitely one of the truest ones she has ever had.

No, they don’t notice the crowd gathering around them next, their friends cheering, whooping, whipping their cameras out to take photos of them, nor do they notice the dimming lights and spotlight ordered by Tony to shine on them, because all that ever mattered between the two of them was  _ them. _ And even as he pulls away slightly, one of his hands sliding down to rest protectively on the small of her back, as his other hand caressing one of her cheeks softly, he smiles as their foreheads touch, and she giggles softly, closing her eyes and giving him a soft peck on the lips.

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” she asks, smirking, and he chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips.

“That bad, huh?” he asks teasingly, repeating the same reply he told her the year before on their  _ very _ first kiss, and she chuckles, shrugging.

“Could use a little more practice,” she says, leaning to press another chaste kiss on his lips, and she smirks teasingly. “I could offer you my services for the rest of the year, I suppose.”

“For the rest of your life too, hopefully,” he says, pressing a soft kiss on her lips, and she hums and smiles against his mouth. “Think you’re up for it?”

Natasha giggles softly, and she hums as she rubs her nose against his, brushing her lips against his. “Challenge accepted, Captain,” she replies, and he smiles as she presses another chaste kiss on his lips, because it’s not like she thinks she can _ever_ find herself stopping from kissing this man. “Happy new year, Steve.”

And apparently, neither can he. He kisses her softly again, and he smiles. “Happy new year, Nat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm once again open to more prompts if you have any (though I still have a lot on the list, but I'm just saying my inbox is def super open), and of course, the usual comments and kudos! Check out my other works as usual! :)


	43. Missing Nat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 43\. Combined prompts: Natasha is away on a longer mission and can rarely be in contact with + Steve, James and Sarah missing her so much.
> 
> "Because apart from his hands already being full with two hyperactive kids, he also still had S.H.I.E.L.D. trainees to teach, miniature and local missions to oversee, and a wife to worry about. And so he misses her, because he's not really used to being alone and apart from her since they got married, and because they're a team not only in taking care of their two kids, but also in trainings and overseeing missions."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for TONS of fluff ahead. Enjoy!

“Daddy, is Mommy gonna be okay?” James asks in a small voice, probably for the hundredth time in a span of two days, his bright blue eyes wide and staring up at his father as Steve gently pulls the comforter up to the six-year-old’s chin. Steve sighs. He’s been hearing the _ same _ question over and over again from his son asking about his mother, and he’s been giving the _ same _ answer since then.

But it’s not like he can blame him—the kid misses his mother.

“You miss Mommy so much, hm?” he asks, and the little boy hums as Steve chuckles softly. “Of course, she’s gonna be okay,” he replies gently, brushing some hair away from his face and giving him a smile. “Mommy’s gonna be okay.”

“D’you think…” James lets out a yawn as Steve smiles widely. “D’you think she saved the little girls yet?”

Steve hums. “I think she already did, yeah,” he replies softly. “I think those little girls are okay now.” James hums.

“That’s good. She'll come home soon.” the little boy murmurs, as his eyelids begin to blink heavily now that he’s about to drift off to sleep. Steve leans down to press a soft kiss on his son’s forehead as the little boy turns, looking up at his father and giving him a sleepy smile, and Steve smiles.

“You go to sleep now, okay?” Steve asks. “Tomorrow’s another day, and you know what that means?” he prompts.

“Another day closer to Mommy coming back,” James responds sleepily, smiling. “And Pancake Day tomorrow with you, Daddy.”

Steve chuckles and nods. “Pancake Day tomorrow too, yeah,” he says and James hums. Steve leans in to press another gentle kiss on his son’s forehead as he brushes his soft red hair. “Good night, Jamie. I love you.”

“Night, Daddy,” the little boy responds sleepily, letting out another yawn. “Love you too.”

He lets out a small smile, leaning to press one last kiss on the boy’s forehead, murmuring a soft good night and ‘I love you’ before slowly getting up, as the young boy starts drifting off to sleep. He turns his son’s Avengers night light on (courtesy of his Uncle Tony years back), and carefully walks over to the door, giving his son one last glimpse before closing the door quietly.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall beside his son’s bedroom door. He’s _ tired. _ Taking care of two super-enhanced kids while worrying about a wife doing a long mission abroad is _ no _ joke at all, especially so when all three of them combined miss the matriarch of their small family so much.

“Dada!” Steve opens his eyes again when he hears the soft, melodious voice in the living room. How did he _ almost _ forget his little princess? He pushes himself from the wall and walks over to the living room in front of the television, where the kids’ playmat is, and where a small, blonde toddler with wide green eyes is playing with her blocks, looking up when she hears Steve’s quiet footsteps against their carpeted floor. She smiles widely, making Steve’s heart flutter, his fatigue immediately fading upon seeing the bright beautiful smile of his daughter.

“Dada, up up!” Sarah drops the blocks from her hands and immediately extends her grabby hands up at her father, wanting to be picked up by her father. Steve chuckles softly, leaning down and pressing a kiss on the girl’s soft cheeks before gathering her in his arms, as the toddler squeals softly, wrapping her arms around her father’s neck and resting her blonde head on his shoulder. Steve rubbed her small back, pressing a kiss on the girl’s head as she lifted her head again to look at her father.

“Mama?” she asks in a small voice, her eyes wide and looking at him expectedly. He brushes his fingers through her soft hair, and places a soft kiss on the toddler’s forehead.

“She’s out on a mission, baby, she’ll be back soon,” he replies softly. “She’ll be back in a few days.”

Sarah tilts her head and pouts. “Mama no home?” she asks quietly, and scrunches her nose, as if struggling to form the words she already knows. “No home...no home Mama ‘day?”

Steve blinks confused. Natasha’s usually the better one who understands their children’s toddler talks better, and while he’s getting the hang of it (he’s a slow learner in toddler talk—even if this is the second chance he has in learning toddler talk), his mind is struggling to find the meaning behind the toddler talk as he had been spent the whole day.

But his mind regains its functionality, and he gives his little girl a small smile. “No, she won’t be coming home today, sweetie,” he replies gently. “And she’s been gone for a few days but she’ll be coming home soon, don’t worry. Mommy’s coming home soon, alright?”

Sarah lets out a small whimper as she rests her head on Steve’s shoulder, and he places a hand on her back, gently smoothing it. “Miss Mama.” she murmurs and Steve sighs, pressing a gentle kiss on his daughter’s hair.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he replies gently against her hair, closing his eyes to inhale the vanilla and milk scent in his daughter’s hair. “I miss her too.”

“Mama go?” she murmurs again, and Steve sighs.

“She’s off to save little girls’ lives, baby,” Steve answers, the same answer he’d been telling his little toddler since the night before when she started asking where her mother is. “Important little girls like you.” Steve replies softly, as Sarah hums. “Mommy’s saving _ lots _ and lots of little girls just like you.” He pokes lightly on her nose as Sarah scrunches her nose and grins at her father just as Steve presses another soft kiss on her cheek.

This is the second night Natasha has been gone on a radio-silent mission, and while it isn’t Natasha’s first time to be away from their little family for a mission without Steve, it _ is _ her first time to go on a radio-silent one for more than one night. The longest mission she’d had since James had been born was an overnight one abroad, and even then, she was allowed to check in with Steve and James via video call as often as she could because it wasn’t a strictly radio-silent mission. But now she’s assigned to a four-day radio-silent mission in Greenland with Wanda and Bucky, only able to check in with the team via her tracker and through Morse code so as to eliminate the possibility of easy technological tracking. Even then, it wasn’t as often as they liked (well, not as often as _ Steve _ liked, of course, but really just enough to let the team know the status of her mission), and not as personal as Steve and the kids preferred.

She would leave short codes as often as she could, and being that Clint had been the only one in the team familiar with “traditional spy stuff” as Tony put it, he was her messenger whenever she would leave short messages telling Steve and the kids that she loves them or she misses them. Although it truly _ is _ better than nothing, Steve, of course, still preferred to hear her voice saying it to them directly (and Clint was already teasing him about their “lovey-dovey messages”—to which Steve came back to him with: “She doesn’t give _ you _ crap when you do the same thing with Laura and the kids”, but knowing Clint, it didn’t mean anything), or the better alternative is, of course, for them to be able to see her via video calls.

And don’t even get him started with how vehemently he was initially against allowing Natasha for this mission. Because apart from the mission being radio-silent for four days (at the least), and her having to go without him (as she insisted because it _ is _ their general rule to each other as parents that one of them should stay should one go), the mission was about taking down the Dark Room Academy, which is—in Natasha’s words—a “cheap knock off the Red Room” where she was trained, which is now being led by her former Headmistress’ daughter whom she refers to as Anya or “Recluse”. And because this is so close and intricately tied to Natasha’s past, Steve had initially feared the possibility that she might be the academy’s primary target, as she revealed when she volunteered that Anya had a grudge against her and Bucky from way before during their time with the KGB.

It ensued a huge argument between the married couple, and even then, Natasha admitted that although she didn’t want to take part in the mission because she didn’t want to part with her family for so long, especially from Sarah who is barely even two years old, she had convinced him that she was the only one who is familiar with the training, as well as the ways and how's of the Red Room. While Bucky had been familiar with it too, he also did admit having Natasha there would make the mission easier and quicker.

“When it comes to the familiarity of the academy, Natalia’s the better one for the job. She’d been there longer than I have, trained with them, had been more involved with them than I ever was,” Bucky admitted to the team, and in front of Steve and Natasha. “And I _ know _ it sounds fishy, but I promise you it wouldn’t be that dangerous.”

_ “Not _ dangerous? These are the people who made _ you _ their pawns and weapons, controlled and manipulated you for years, they _ hurt _ you,” Steve argued back, as he looked back at his wife who is frowning and glaring at him—and if he were a normal man, he would be scared, but seeing as he had been on the receiving end of that glare for _ years _ since they got together, it meant nothing especially in these circumstances. “How sure are you that this isn’t some kind of trap or a lure that both of you are falling into?”

“It _ is _ a lure, Steve, Anya’s stupid lure, which is why I’m coming in—”

“You _know_ it's a lure yet you're _still _coming in?!”

It was a long argument made in front of the team, but it eventually ended when Natasha had told Steve that Anya wouldn’t outsmart her as the Black Widow (“They trained me for these kinds of situations. _ Don’t _ tell me you don’t trust me with my abilities to fight and look after myself.” she said, and it practically shut him up), that Bucky will be there as her backup and having Wanda would help them guarantee a win because of her powers, Steve eventually relented.

The evening before she was due to leave, she had a long talk with James in his bedroom to better explain that she’d have to be gone for a few days. “Mommy has to save a lot of little girls’ lives, you see,” he overheard her explaining to their son that night. “Because someone’s got a lot of them and they’re hurting them.”

“Little girls...little girls like Sarah?” James asked in a small voice, and Steve knew it struck a nerve in Natasha when he had brought up her little sister, comparing and likening them to the little girls being held captive by the Dark Room and ready to be trained to be assassins, because even in the small crack of his son’s bedroom door, he saw her pause and freeze for a moment, before she recovered and nodded. “Why would someone hurt little girls, Mommy?”

And if Steve hadn’t known his wife better, he would miss the forming tears in her eyes that she was trying to hold as she spoke to her son. “Because they’re bad people, Jamie, and we need to stop bad people, remember?” she told him gently in a steady voice, as _ steady _ as she could. “We need to stop bad people from hurting these little girls.”

James had whimpered, and he buried his face further in his mother’s chest as Natasha held her son tightly. “I don’t want you to go, Mommy,” he admitted softly. “But I don’t want them to hurt little girls too. What if they get to Sarah and they hurt her?” He let out a sniffle. “I don’t want Sarah to get hurt, Mommy.”

“Hey, look at me,” Natasha said softly, cupping their son’s cheeks so he can look at her. “They won’t get to Sarah, okay? I will make sure they won’t hurt Sarah...which is why Mommy has to go to stop them, okay? I have to go stop them so they won’t ever hurt little girls again, so they won’t have to get to Sarah, okay? D’you understand me, Jamie?”

James nodded with a whimper as Natasha pressed a gentle kiss on the boy’s forehead. “I need you to look after your little sister for me, okay? Look after Sarah with Daddy, alright?” she asked him quietly, and Steve knew that James’ question really _ did _ struck a nerve on her. “Protect little Sarah, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

Sure enough, the conversation did a number on Natasha, especially when she persuaded Steve to let Sarah sleep between them on the bed that evening. She didn’t have the same kind of talk she had with James for Sarah, since the baby is only one-and-a-half years old, but she instead allowed the toddler to snuggle with her as much as she can until she fell asleep. It was only when Sarah had fallen asleep that Natasha had confided with Steve about her fears for the mission, something she would _ never _ admit to the team, of course. She confided to Steve about her fear of being too caught up in the trauma, her fear of wrong intel of Anya, her fear of relapsing with what could possibly be left of the Red Room’s manipulations in her mind.

“And did you hear what James asked?” she asked him in a small voice as he held her tightly in his arms, pressing soft kisses in her hair as she buried her face in his chest. “What if they’d get to Sarah and hurt her? What if Sarah would turn out...turn out to be like _ me?” _

And Steve just allowed her to cry, because he knew in moments like these that all she needed was for him to hold her even without him telling her anything. She didn’t need words, she just needed _ him, _ for her to be in his arms, for him to just hold her while she cried and let all her fears take over her even just for tonight. She needed to be vulnerable, especially for missions as sensitive as this one. So Steve just gave her small and soft kisses as he whispered loving and comforting words to her.

“I need to do this, Steve,” she had told him that same evening, when she pulled away slightly to look at her husband straight in the eyes. “I _ need _ to do this mission. I need to do it for the girls...and for Sarah.”

For all the little girls who, like Natasha had been, were childhoodless orphans, and for Sarah, who, if nobody tried hard enough to stop them, could end up being just like one of them.

It was only then that Steve was fully convinced that Natasha should go. “Okay,” he told her softly, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead and on the tip of her nose, lifting his hands to brush away the tears on her cheeks. “Okay, sweetheart.” he repeated softly, pressing a chaste kiss on his wife’s lips.

That had been three nights ago already, and since then, it was just the three of them—with James being a hyperactive kid who had been “protecting” his little sister (if his constant hovering, attempts at air-punching and air-kicking invisible “threats” around his sister would count as “protecting”—even at the cost of accidentally knocking off some things in the Tower and hitting random trainees’, their uncles’, and aunts’ shins), and Sarah attempting to copy her brother (which would make James _ freak _ out more, thus the constant running and shouting, _ more _ air-fighting and more shins and things being hit at). Steve even makes a mental note to tease his wife about asking their son to protect his little sister if only to destroy the entire Tower, but then again, he also found it adorable how James was willing to take leaps and lengths to ensure his sister’s safety even if it _ could _ only further hurt her, for now.

But no matter how adorable it had been, it was also pretty tiring mostly for his part. Because apart from his hands already being full with two hyperactive kids, he also still had S.H.I.E.L.D. trainees to teach, miniature and local missions to oversee, and a wife to worry about. And so he misses her, because he's not really used to being alone and apart from her since they got married, and because they're a team not only in taking care of their two kids, but also in trainings and overseeing missions. He _misses_ her so much, but he wills himself to lay it low to get the job done.

And said hyperactive kids hadn’t been very helpful as well in his attempt to lay himself low with how much he misses Natasha too, because since the day she left, all he had been hearing from his kids is them asking about their Mommy, like the repetitive conversation he had with James prior to Steve putting him to bed, and Sarah's initial fussing about not having her Mommy around to cuddle and sing her a lullaby to sleep. Sarah had been particularly easy to respond and quell, though, since she had her own way to make herself feel as if her Mommy is snuggling with her even if she’s not home.

Sarah lets out a small yawn as Steve chuckles, brushing away some stray blonde hair away from his little girl’s beautiful face. “You getting tired too, huh?” he asks softly, as the toddler hums, resting her head back on her father’s shoulder as she wraps her arms around his neck. Steve rubs her back gently. “Let’s go to bed, sweetie.”

Steve walks to the hallway of the rooms, and first enters Sarah’s room, where he lays Sarah on her cot so he can change her into her pajamas. After Steve folds her day clothes and puts it in the hamper inside her room, the toddler extends her arms again at her father as Steve chuckles and picks her up again on his hip.

“You really miss Mommy that much, hm?” he asks softly, tickling the toddler’s stomach and making her laugh as Steve grins, walking back to the hallway and closing the door to Sarah’s room behind them. “Well, me too.”

Steve walks in his and Natasha’s bedroom, and gently lays Sarah in the middle of the bed. He grabs Natasha’s pillow and puts it beside Sarah so as to serve as a barrier should she roll on the other side in her sleep. Sarah wiggles her arms and legs, as Steve chuckles, pressing a soft kiss on the girl’s forehead before he gets up from the bed to retrieve Natasha’s towel from the bathroom hamper, and going back to the bed. Sarah squeals in delight when she sees the familiar pink towel in Steve’s hand as he sits back on the bed beside Sarah. He sits back down on the bed and picks up Sarah, wrapping the towel around the toddler—making sure it’s wrapped around her from the top of her head to her toes, while opening space for her face and her arms—as she picks a handful of the fabric on her head and brings it closer to her face. Steve smiles and lays the little girl down on the bed as she lets out a small yawn and a contented sigh as she wiggles herself further in her mother’s towel.

It’s silly, really, this _ entire _ thing, but Steve had figured it had worked for Sarah because of how much her towel smelled like her mother, and how being enveloped in something with her scent can ease the little girl’s worries of how much she misses her mother, how it can easily make her feel like she is being snuggled by her mother even without her being at home. It had started off initially as a stretch, as it had been the first thing Steve had grabbed onto during the first night Sarah was fussing about her missing her Mommy, but since it helped lull her back to sleep, he figured it’s _ her _ way of coping with not being so used to not having her Mommy around before she sleeps.

Sarah hums and looks up at her father with wide green eyes, giving him a wide and contented smile as Steve chuckles. “Feeling comfy, sweetie?” he asks softly, and Sarah responds with a soft giggle and a small yawn as Steve smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss on his daughter’s forehead and rubbing his nose with his little girl’s as the toddler hums and smiles. “I love you, my princess.”

Sarah lets out a yawn in response, giving her father a wide smile as Steve presses another soft kiss on her soft cheek. “Sleep tight.” he says softly, and watches his little girl’s eyes flutter, her breathing even out as she falls into a deep slumber.

And he sighs. That’s _ two _ kids finally knocked out to sleep.

He takes a few moments to watch Sarah in her deep slumber, wrapped in his wife’s towel, before he slowly gets up and turns the night light on. He proceeds to the bathroom to wash up for a little while, as he wears a pair of sweatpants for the evening. He hangs his towel back on the hamper, turns the bathroom light off, and walks in front of their closet.

Because his kids aren’t the only one missing Natasha.

He lets out a small smile as he opens the drawers to their shirts, and grabs a navy blue shirt that was once _ his, _ but it had become Natasha’s since she stole it from him when they first started dating all those years back, and had considered it as one of her favorite shirts (one of her favorite shirts she had _ stolen _ from him) to wear since then. He once asked her about it, because the shirt was practically four sizes larger than her yet she’s still so fond of wearing it even outside the bedroom.

“‘Cause it smells like you,” she had told him when she asked, and he can still remember the bright smile she had on her face when she told him that. “And I feel safe whenever I’m wearing it ‘cause I feel like your arms around me when I wear it.”

And since it had been hers for years now, the shirt smelled like her now—her usual lavender shampoo and vanilla soap that she uses on her evening baths before she would wear the shirt to bed, mixed with the faint scent of lemongrass from her day lotion she applies on her skin on her day baths before she would wear the shirt on a lazy morning or afternoon. It’s probably almost the same scent she has on her towel that Sarah sleeps in now, but this shirt just has something else in it that makes it _ so, _ very...Natasha that it's comforting enough to let him sleep, even if he couldn't, originally, not without her beside him.

So he puts the shirt on him, and he smiles as he smooths it before closing the drawer of shirts. There’s just something else in it that makes him feel so at home and safe whenever he wears it, ‘cause it feels like her arms are around him when he wears it.

He lays his head back down on his pillow, pulling the comforter up to his torso and pulling himself closer to his daughter, as he sighs contentedly, a small smile playing on his mouth and allowing himself to drift into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trope here is that both of them wear each other's shirts (all of it are Steve's, but some are just stolen by Nat) to help them fall asleep whenever they're without the other. Hope it worked well enough! (also sarah's thing MAY or may not be my thing when I was a kid too, so there's that hehe)
> 
> And I realized this chapter may have opened TONS of possible prompts and separate oneshots, but YES as usual, prompts, reviews and kudos super appreciated! Also check out Romanoff's Anatomy on my profile!


	44. The Green-Eyed Monster Is A Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 44\. Multiple prompts: "Jealous!Steve"
> 
> "And the corner of her mouth quirks upward in a sheer realization—her husband is jealous, has been since the evening started when he first pulled her away from Pete Collins up to recently when he pulled her away from Andrew Griffin. He must have also seen the way they were looking at her, and must have gotten possessive because only he can look at her that way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH yes, the familiar jealous partner trope! Saw a lot of it in the comments last chapter, and when I reviewed past prompts and comments, I saw a lot of these too, so I decided to make one. I enjoyed playing around with this one, composing and deleting different drafts before finally coming up with this particular final one. Warning for MORE fluff, but I hope you guys still enjoy!

Natasha furrows her eyebrows in confusion, her fingers gripping on the stem of the champagne glass tightly for a split second, as she feels an arm snake around her waist, pulling her to whoever this person is. She is speaking (well, more of just smiling and nodding politely and tuning out half of the time) to one of the mayoral candidates for New York City, whom she knows (and as she is  _ fully _ aware of) to be ogling, flirting and leaving soft and light touches on her arm as he talks with her all evening long. But seeing as this party is a party where the Avengers should be appealing for the American government (thus, American politicians) to like them, she couldn’t do anything but ignore the ogling blue-hazel eyes burning with  _ obvious _ lust and desire, as his eyes roam from her chest and down to her curves, of this young candidate, instead working her best to divert her and this man’s conversation somewhere non-personal and non-invasive.

‘Sides. She’s the Black Widow—she’s practically the expert when it comes to ignoring the eyes of undesired men who desire her, especially when they’re not of great use nor importance. She’s way past the point that these kinds of looks offend her, let alone  _ bother _ her.

But her fingers loosen around the stem of the glass when she looks up and finds the owner of the arm to be Steve, and she smiles, leaning closer to him almost instinctively and resting her free hand on his chest as he looks down at her and gives her a sweet smile, giving her a soft kiss on the temple as she looks back up at the mayoral candidate whose eyes are now switching back and forth between her and Steve.

“Hi,” he whispers in her ear, before he straightens himself, pulling Natasha closer to him as he gives a polite smile over to the mayoral candidate. “Sorry, I don’t suppose we’ve already met? Steve Rogers.” He holds out his free hand as the candidate takes it with a nod.

“Captain America, yes,” he replies, shaking his hand firmly as Steve quickly retracts it. “Pete Collins, running for—”

“Mayor for New York City, yes, it's nice to finally meet you, Mister Collins,” Steve says, and Natasha looks up at him, and she watches as he gives the politician a tight smile. “I’ve...heard wonderful things about you, most especially in your platform.”

The politician raises an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to where Steve tightens his hold around Natasha, and he clears his throat. “Yes, yes, of course,” he says, and he looks back at Steve and gives him a small smile. “I was just...I was telling Miss Romanoff right here—and I hope you’ve also heard it—about how I support the Avengers Initiative, and despite run-ins around the city, albeit some of them leading to bits of disasters and more costings, I still continue to support your team as our citizens express how safer they feel whenever you guys are around.”

Steve nods and smiles. “That’s good to hear, thank you very much,” he says, and he looks down at Natasha. “The whole team would be relieved to hear that, right, sweetheart?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow as she looks up at Steve as she blinks. “Yeah, of course,” she replies softly, and looks back up at Pete Collins and smiles. “Thank you very much for your support, on behalf of the whole team.”

“Of course, anything for the Avengers and anything to make our people feel safe,” he replies with a smile, and he looks back up at Steve as he clears his throat. “Excuse me. I think I should go...mingle with the rest of the team too.”

Natasha nods, and Steve smiles widely. “Have a pleasant evening.” he says, and Pete smiles politely, nodding at both of them before he walks off, leaving the two.

Natasha smiles and looks up just as Steve wraps both his arms around her, pulling her close to him as Natasha hums, resting her hands on his chest as she hums and leans up to rub her nose against his. “Hi.” she says softly, and Steve chuckles softly, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips.

“Hi,” he says softly, rubbing the small of her back gently with one of his hands. “You look beautiful tonight.”

Natasha giggles softly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close to press a soft kiss on his lips. “You’ve said that too many times already,” she tells him softly. “Jamie and Sarah were already probably getting sick of hearing it over and over before we even left the floor.”

Steve laughs softly and shakes his head. “No, they agree,” he tells her, resting his forehead against hers. “‘Sides, they’re too young to get annoyed at ol’ Daddy and Mommy yet.” Natasha laughs softly and shakes her head.

“Wish they could stay young and sweet forever,” she says softly, and Steve hums as Natasha pulls away slightly, raising an eyebrow at him. “Weren’t you just speaking to Bill Cortez earlier this evening while I was with Pete Collins?”

Bill Cortez, the current mayor of Manhattan, who will be running for a second term in the upcoming elections. “I was,” he answers. “He says he supports the Avengers.” He shrugs, and he  _ did _ tell Steve that, which is good, because that was the point why they were in the party, right? Because they like them and they’re  _ literally _ benefiting off of Tony Stark’s money which funded this party?

“Yeah, but aren’t we supposed to make longer conversations with them so they’ll  _ like _ us more?” she asks with a giggle as Steve frowns slightly. “Why’d you walk away? Bill Cortez seems nice.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows slightly. “Yeah, but I missed you,” he says, pressing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “And I wanted to tell you how beautiful you look.”

Because it  _ is _ true. It had been a while since Tony had thrown a party as elaborate and formal as this one that they all had to dress up in nice tailored tuxedos and ball gowns, and the ones he  _ had _ thrown before were during the time when Natasha had just given birth to Sarah and neither Steve nor Natasha were able to leave their two kids alone for more than half an hour (the party was also set during that  _ one _ day when Natasha was able to produce a lot of milk for their newborn daughter then—which had been rare, so they let Sarah take full advantage of it and didn’t want to risk lactating in the middle of a formal party). So it  _ had _ been a while since Steve had seen his wife in a beautiful ball gown, and while he always believed that Natasha is beautiful in whatever form or whatever clothing she prefers to wear (or  _ not _ to wear, as Steve, of course, preferred for his two eyes only), it still stirs something inside him whenever he sees her in a formal gown.

Like this one—where she’s wearing a rose pink satin ball gown with an off-shoulder top and a deep v-neckline, the skirt of her dress clad in small pink. Her hair is curled neatly, tied to a half-ponytail with a few small white flowers (that of which Wanda had put in her insistence) on her hair. Her makeup is light, still maintaining her naturally rosy cheeks and further highlighting her bright green eyes. She looks like a princess straight out of a fairytale, and Steve, once again, takes the opportunity to thank the universe for allowing him to be married to such a beautiful woman, both inside and out.

And Natasha blushes at that, shaking her head as she rests her forehead on his chest, and Steve chuckles, pressing a kiss on top of her head. “Such a sap.” she mumbles, and he smiles.

“Oh, but you like it.” he says, almost  _ too _ smugly because it’s true.

Natasha pulls away with a grin, leaning up to peck his lips quickly and softly. “Go back to wooing politicians, Rogers,” she says softly, and Steve frowns when Natasha steps back, slipping away from Steve’s arms as Natasha winks playfully. “Make sure you’ll let them like me.” she teases lightly.

“But I already like you.” he replies quietly.

“Not  _ you. _ Of course I know you like me.” she says with a wink, and Steve gives her the best puppy eyes he can ever muster, but Natasha just laughs and shakes her head, giving him a small wave and a grin before turning back to talk to a group consisting of two female politicians, and Sharon, as Steve sighs.

He doesn’t want  _ others _ to like her.

He walks back over to the bar counter, where he chances upon Tony who introduces one of the vice presidential candidates, who, of course, greatly supports the Avengers. Natasha smiles when she sees Steve extend his hand to the candidate to introduce himself, and turns back to the group she’s in, as she tunes herself back to the conversation where one of the congress representatives is discussing to them her new platform to further improve criminal justice as she is planning to run again for Congress once again.

But for some reason, even after the healthy and lengthy political discussion with these women, some way and somehow, she found herself eventually being pulled away by Tony to speak to the current mayor of Ohio, Andrew Griffin—whom  _ everyone _ knows is probably the  _ only _ skeptic in the room when it comes to the Avengers. “Maybe you could convince him in some way,” he tells Natasha in a whisper, giving her a glass of champagne she was tasked to give to Griffin. “He’s been looking at you  _ all _ evening.”

“And you think  _ this _ is a good idea how?” Natasha whispers back just as they are getting close to the man who is speaking to one of the evening’s honorary guests (who’s  _ not _ a politician, as Tony explains, and Natasha had somehow lacked enough care to even ask who this nth honorary guest of the night she had encountered this time).

“Because you’re convincing, and you’re gorgeous, and you have a way with men like him. Not to be sexist, but  _ believe _ me, I’ve tried convincing him and he only has eyes on you,” he tells her and she rolls her eyes. “‘Sides, you can just go and treat it like a mission, right? Nothing too physical, of course...if you know what I mean.”

Natasha’s eyes flicker to where Steve is currently busy speaking to the vice presidential candidate, and she sighs. “If he grabs me—” she starts to say, but Tony shakes his head.

“I’ll be  _ right _ here and ready to kick the man’s ass out,” he says, and she raises an eyebrow. “I  _ know _ you’ll kick his ass first before I could, but...you get the point.”

Natasha smirks and takes the champagne glass from Tony’s hand as he grins at her and gives her a thumbs-up, and she saunters over to Griffin, handing him his glass of champagne, which he accepts cordially with a polite smile, his eyes leaving hers for a moment to travel down her body then back up to her face.

_ Men, _ she thinks as she scoffs inwardly.  _ Men _ and their inability to keep their dicks in their pants.

And, she figures, apart from his ogling eyes and flirtatious comments pertaining to her beauty, how she looks and how she talks (all of which, again, she’s  _ completely _ immune from no matter how praising it would sound—she only accepts praises from  _ one _ man, after all), she’s practically convinced that she had done a good job in selling the Avengers to him, and by the end of the conversation, she’s  _ completely _ sure that she had persuaded him to side with supporting the Avengers as one of the solutions for safety and criminal justice.

But once again, for the second time that evening, she feels an arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close, and she doesn’t even need to look up to know whose arm it is, and whose body she is leaning against so instinctively.

“Hi,” he whispers again, pressing a kiss on her temple as she hums, looking up at her husband and smiling up at him as he smiles back. Steve looks back up at Griffin and smiles as he extends his free hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Steve Rogers.”

Griffin takes it and gives it a firm shake. “Andrew Griffin. An honor to meet you, Captain,” he says with a smile. “Miss Romanoff here has been telling me lots of things— _ good _ things and good stories about the Avengers. And I must say,” He smiles widely as he nods and chuckles. “I must say I have to rethink my current stance for your team. I think America really needs you as one of our lines of defense.”

“Oh,” Steve says, smiling as he squeezes Natasha’s hip and she smiles, resting her head on his chest. “I’m glad you’re starting to think that, Mister Griffin. Thank you very much.”

But Griffin chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh, it’s no part thanks to your wife for convincing me too,” he says, his eyes traveling down to her chest and back up at her face as he smiles. “The way she tells the stories, the way she defends the team, the way she just _talks,_ it’s quite convincing, I must say.”

Steve pauses, as Natasha looks up at Steve, who gives the mayor a tight smile. “She sure has her ways, hm?” he asks, and Griffin nods.

“I’ll leave you two at it,” he says, raising his champagne glass at the two of them. “I’ll see you around.” He turns away from them and walks off to mingle with the rest of the guests.

But Natasha’s eyes don’t leave Steve’s face, especially as she watches his jaw clench, feels his arm tighten and tense around her waist, his eyes narrowing  _ ever _ so slightly it wouldn’t be so noticeable if she wasn’t a trained spy, and the way his eyes had turned  _ cold _ all of a sudden, like he’s frustrated, mad, definitely far from the beautiful warm blue ones that would look at her and her children on a daily basis.

And the corner of her mouth quirks upward in a sheer realization—her husband is  _ jealous, _ has been since the evening started when he first pulled her away from Pete Collins up to recently when he pulled her away from Andrew Griffin. He must have also seen the way  _ they _ were looking at her, and must have gotten possessive because only  _ he _ can look at her that way.

“Steve?” she says, but Steve doesn’t look at her, his eyes still trained to where Griffin had gone.  _ Well, _ Natasha thinks, this might have gone a little too far, she supposes? “Steve, sweetheart?”

“Come dance with me?” he asks, looking down at her, and giving her a small smile. “Dance with me?”

Natasha blinks, especially when she sees a different glint in Steve’s eyes, but she nods, offering him a smile. “Okay.” she says softly, lacing her hand with his, giving his hand a light squeeze as he gives her a smile, bringing her hand up to his lips to press a soft kiss on it as he leads her to the dance floor.

Others were already dancing on the dance floor prior to Steve leading Natasha there. A few of their guests, along with their respective spouses and partners were already there, dancing and mingling, and as she looks around, she also spots Bucky and Wanda on the dance floor, along with Clint and Laura, and Sam and Sharon. When Steve stops to a spot on the floor, the music turns to a more mellow and slower music, as the lights begin to dim slightly and everyone around them starts grabbing their respective partners to be pulled to the dance floor for a slow dance.

Steve wraps an arm around Natasha’s waist and takes her hand in his other hand. Natasha hums and smiles as she allows Steve to lead them slowly to the beat, a smile forming on his face as she looks up at him, and as she lifts her hand to caress his cheek softly, her thumb brushing the apple of his cheek gently as he leans to her touch, his eyes closing as he pulls her closer to him. Her hand falls to rest on his shoulder, as she closes her eyes and rests her head on his chest, on top of where his heart is, where she can hear his heart beating against his chest.

This heart belongs to her, the same way hers belong to him, and  _ nothing, _ and no one can ever take them away from each other. Not even other men’s prying stares, not even the way they could devour her with their eyes,  _ nothing. _ Because in a room full of people staring at her full of desire, she is sure that she will only look for, and care for, one specific pair of bright, beautiful blue eyes that will only look at her with love.

“Steve?” She hears him hum in acknowledgment, as she smiles. “I love you.”

Steve pulls away slightly as she opens her eyes and lifts her head to look at him, and  _ there _ she sees it. There she sees the pair of bright blue eyes looking at her with love, and  _ only _ love, as he smiles down at her—that beautiful smile of his that she’s sure she will never get tired of seeing in her whole life. After all this time, after being together for eleven years and being married for nine, and after having two beautiful kids together, her heart will still always flutter whenever she would see him smile like that for her, and  _ only _ for her.

“I love you too,” he replies, resting his forehead against hers as she hums contentedly, closing her eyes and smiling widely. “I love you so much.”

“And I will  _ always, _ always be yours,” she tells him softly, and his smile widens as the hand on his shoulder travels up to cup his cheek. “Always, my love. No one can ever take me away from you, d’you understand that?”

Steve lets out a soft chuckle as he nods, pressing a soft kiss on her lips.  “I understand that.” he replies softly, and she hums, pressing another kiss on his lips.

“So you don’t always have to whisk me away from other men, especially when they’re looking at me weirdly. You don’t have to worry,” she says softly, her smile widening almost teasingly at him. “You don’t need to be jealous, sweetheart. I’m yours.  _ Yours, _ all the way.”

Steve lets out a quiet chuckle as he shakes his head. “I’m not jealous, Nat,” he admits quietly, tightening his hold around her waist as he pulls her closer to him and he sighs. “I just don’t like the way they look at you—the way  _ every _ man in this room is looking at you.”

Natasha raises an amused eyebrow. “Steve, it’s okay,” she says, and then she shrugs. “I actually find it sexy when you get so possessive.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him, and this time, he  _ does _ laugh as he presses a kiss on her forehead.

“As much as I like about the idea of you finding a jealous me sexy,” he starts softly. “I’m not jealous, Nat. I’m...well, maybe I am to an extent, if you would call it that. But it’s not...not the way you think,” He smiles, cupping her cheek and brushing his thumb on her soft cheek gently. “Because I trust you, and I trust your love, and I know that no matter how many men there are who will look at you, or maybe come up to you and tell you they want you, that you won’t turn your back on me. Because I know you love me, and I trust on that. I trust on that, and I trust  _ you." _

Natasha begins to open her mouth to say something, to retort that isn’t  _ that _ the point of why she practically had two conversations from two different politicians cut off? But he continues, “When I say that I don’t like how they look at you...I mean that too,” he admits softly, giving her a sad smile. “I don’t like how they just look at you and  _ just _ see and get captivated by a beautiful body, when all you ever are is more than a beautiful body but also a beautiful soul and a beautiful heart.” He smiles sadly at her. “And I  _ hate _ that it’s how they look at you, how they only speak to you because of that and nothing more.”

And Natasha blinks, as if confused. She had never looked at it that way,  _ her _ being viewed as just more than a beautiful body, because all her life, she  _ had _ always been just a beautiful body. It was only when she defected, when she had found her small family, and when she had met the love of her life did she realize that maybe there was a bit of her that was  _ more _ than just a woman with a beautiful body. It was here that she realized she had a soul and a heart, and—as Steve had told her even years before—she had beautiful ones at that too.

And while, in the duration of her stay in S.H.I.E.L.D., her developing friendships, and her relationship and subsequent marriage with Steve, she had come to accept the fact that she  _ is _ more than a woman with a beautiful body, she never really took notice of those who still see her as such. She doesn’t care, and it doesn’t bother her.

It never occurred to her that it bothered others, most especially her husband.

“And I don’t know if that counts as jealousy, really,” Steve says, his cheeks blushing with a soft tinge of pink as he shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “Because that also basically implies that I don’t like the way the men stare at your body too, but I think that’s always been a given as a husband.” Natasha lets out a soft laugh as Steve smiles. “But all evening while they were...while they were looking at you like that…’s all I could think of: that they’re looking at you because of your body, and even as they were talking to you, they weren’t...they  _ weren’t, _ ‘cause they were just looking at your body.” He pouts slightly. “And I hate it.”

And Natasha smiles at that, her hand cupping the back of his head, and her fingers running through his smooth blonde hair. She pulls his head forward to rest his forehead against hers, as she presses a chaste kiss on his lips. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t care how they look at me,” she tells him softly. “Because I only care about how  _ you _ look at me.”

“But I do,” he says softly. “I do care.”

Natasha shakes her head. “They don’t matter, Steve,” she tells him softly and assuringly, pressing another kiss on his lips as she smiles. “Only you and me matter, okay?” She presses another kiss on his lips. “Only  _ you _ matter to me. It’s okay.” Another kiss. “It’s okay, love.”

And Steve wraps both of his arms around her, pulling her close and pressing a long and soft kiss on her lips as she hums and kisses him back. “I love you.” he murmurs against her mouth, and she hums in reply. He moves to press his lips on her forehead as she sighs contentedly, closing her eyes and resting her head on his chest as she wraps her arms around him and they continue to sway to the music ringing in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think around this time is the time where students go back to school, or like working people go back to work? So if you're one of 'em (my uni starts sem a bit later in the month), I'm wishing you good luck and good vibes for school/work life in 2020! May profs/classmates/co-workers be good to u <333
> 
> And as per usual, prompts, reviews, comments and kudos super appreciated!


	45. Worry Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 45\. Prompt: Natasha gives Steve the silent treatment, and he has to figure out what he did.
> 
> "And Helen gives him a funny look. “You’ve been married to her for ten years, had two children with her, and you still don’t know any damn thing about women?” she asks, and he furrows his eyebrows in confusion at the doctor as she chuckles and shakes her head. “You’re definitely something else, Captain Rogers.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from steveandnatlover! And alas, I have this HUGE creative block in my mind that it took me a long while to come up with any story for any prompt (thus, the posting delay and diversion from my regular posting), but I worked it through and came up with this one. Hope it's as good as the others :c Anyway, hope you enjoy!

She’s been quiet and withdrawn from him for more than a week now. _More_ than a week—_ten_ days to be precise, and it’s worrying him.

Usually in the mornings, he would be the early riser between them, the one to prepare breakfast on the table, wake the kids up so they can bring her breakfast in bed and they would cuddle. Afterwards, he would proceed for his usual morning routine and exercise and train, and she would come in and spar with him before they proceed with training the new S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. In-between they would have those intimate and small moments by themselves, where they would sometimes shower together while the kids played in the living room, or have their small talks during sparring where they would exchange playful banters and tease each other on their fighting styles, or when they would just talk about James and Sarah and the things they’ve said and done that would make the other one smile and distract them to get a hit.

And sometimes, _ she _ would wake up earlier than him whenever he’d be out on missions without her. He would cook breakfast, wake the kids up so they can bring him breakfast in bed and they would cuddle. They would talk about the mission afterwards, cuddle by themselves while the kids would play, and have a quiet but intimate morning by themselves before they would proceed with training. She would look after him with her sharp eye, bug him and make sure he’s alright and eating well, and she would tell him about how her training classes went before he would tell all about his.

The bottomline is: she’s _ never _ usually silent and quiet, never around him. Because apart from being a married couple in love, they were still each other’s best friends, partners and confidants. They tell each other things, whether it be about S.H.I.E.L.D., or their kids or their friends or about each other. Over time, Steve had learned to appreciate that—Natasha’s openness to talk to him when he had initially known her as a closed-off, private person from the start. It’s a symbol of their deep trust and love for one another, one that came into life in the form of their conversations and openness.

So when she’d been giving him the silent treatment for more than a week now, it worries him to the core. Because not only does he go on to think endlessly about _ what _ could have possibly gone wrong with Natasha, but he worries that it might have something to do with _ him. _ That perhaps _ he _ had done something to upset her, to break the trust and love they have for each other that it automatically closed her off from him.

And he’s been racking his brain for _ ten _ days now of what he could’ve possibly done wrong.

And if he had to guess, he supposes, it really started when they came home from a mission. The Avengers were called in—the original six, plus Bucky, Wanda, Sam and Rhodey—for a one-day mission abroad. Natasha and Steve left James and Sarah under Pepper’s care, and the two promised the eight-year-old and the three-year-old to be back at the end of the day. It was an easy promise, one that they hadn’t thought twice before verbally saying it to the kids, and besides, the mission was a _ one-day _ mission—it shouldn’t be _ too _ hard to keep the promise, right?

But then again they overlooked the fact that all _ ten _ Avengers were called in, which meant that a fully-fledged force team was needed to fight whatever it was, because it was _ that _ strong and _ that _ dangerous and complicated.

And it was, in all senses, dangerous and complicated—mostly because it involved “Asgardian magic, robots, rising knock-off super soldiers, try-hard Widows and failed human experiments that turned into freaks” (all of which are in verbatim, coming from Tony’s mouth when they did the debriefing with Maria—to which she replied with, “So it’s a failed knockoff of the Avengers Initiative”, and Tony corrected her with, “It was us before we became friends”, to which all of them agreed because the inventor _ did _ have a point), that was majorly headed by Loki who became affiliated with a rising Hydra base. Questions and conflicts of interests aside, they had a difficult and tiring time taking them out, and none of them came out of the mission unscathed.

But the one who suffered the major brunt of the whole mission was Steve, who was hospitalized and stuck in the ICU for three days for suffering injuries that could’ve killed a _ normal _ human being who was without a super-soldier serum.

“Fractured ribs, gunshot wounds on the chest, abdomen and arms, broken pair of legs, and don’t even get me started with the head trauma that resulted in multiple brain injuries,” Helen Cho had explained to him when he woke up and asked what happened. “The only uninjured portion of your body had been your heart, which was _ barely _ keeping you alive when they brought you in. You were in a coma for a whole day post-surgery, and it’s a miracle you woke up today.”

Natasha was there when he woke up, of course, and when he looked at her, she looked like she had spent the entire three days crying because of the dark circles under her swollen eyes. When he asked about the extent of _ her _ injuries, to which he noted that she didn’t have any cast nor bandages on her body, she didn’t answer him, and instead curled herself beside him on the hospital bed as she gingerly wrapped herself around him.

“I was worried about you,” she admitted to him quietly when Helen and the medical team left and gave them their privacy. “The kids were worried about you too.”

“I’m here,” he assured her weakly, pressing a small kiss on her head as he closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of vanilla in her hair. “I’m alright.”

The kids visited him later that day, and Sarah ended up bawling when her eyes landed on her now-awake father, running and climbing up his bed to crush him in a tight hug (or as tight of a hug as a three-year-old can muster). James held back his tears, but even Steve could see how affected and upset he had been when he curled up beside his father and refused to leave his side even as they changed his bandages and casts.

That had been a little over two weeks ago, when Steve was stuck in the hospital for six days, and was released on the seventh. Things had immediately gone back to normal—the kids were alright and playing with him once again, and he moved back to their floor after living in the med wing for six days. But the seventh day was also when he _ again _ took in a whole-day mission, but this time _ without _ her, and where he had practically ended up in the med wing because he accidentally opened a stitch and yet again needed minor medical attention.

When she found out about this, she had given him _ that _ look—the look of disappointment he had never learned how to not cower away from even as they were married, while she silently sat by his side to wait for the medical team to finish patching him up before she can help him up to their floor again.

“Do you ever understand the concept of recovery after suffering multiple injuries, Rogers?” she asked him quietly, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her arms over her chest when he had lain back on their bed.

“I was already recovered in the hospital and clear for a mission,” he defended softly. “It was just a minor stitch that I pulled. Nothing the serum won’t heal.”

“You could’ve pulled more stitches, worsened your initial injuries, or you could’ve _ died.” _

“But I didn’t,” he told her. “I’m here. I’m alright, and tomorrow I’ll still be the same.” He shook her head and gave his wife a small smile but she just frowned. “I’ll still be here.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Why the _ fuck _ did I even marry you?” she muttered, turning away and closing the bedroom door behind her, leaving him alone, blinking, nervous and confused. But he thought nothing wrong of it, because it’s not like it was the first time she muttered _ that _ to herself (though come to think of it, the circumstances of her muttering that sentence had been different—lighter and in a more joking manner, but this time it had been eerily different and more serious).

The following day, it was the start of when Natasha had started giving him the silent treatment that would last for ten days.

She had been waking up earlier than him for the last ten days, leaving him breakfast and waking up the kids so _ they _ can bring the food to him without her. When he would go down and ask his wife to spar with him, they would do so silently, with him starting conversations and her giving him short answers, effectively ending each conversation he tried to initiate. At the end of each day, Natasha would proceed back to their floor without even waiting for him, and when he would come back up, she would be cooking dinner already while he showered and entertained the kids. During dinner, she would avoid his eye contact, but would do her best to keep up a happy face for the kids. Afterwards, she would give him a kiss good night and turn in without asking him to accompany her.

He asked her about it on the first night, if something had been bothering her, or if he had done something to upset her. But she just kissed him and snuggled further in his arms without telling him an answer, and he would sigh and pull her closer to him. He asked her the same question each night in those days she had been withdrawn from him, but as each day passed, she would just grow further and further away from him, until she no longer slept in his arms, until she no longer gave him a kiss good night, until she completely withdrew from him.

“Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he had asked her on the ninth day, as she was suiting herself up for training. “You haven’t been talking...and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

But she didn’t tell him anything, instead gave him a withered look before muttering a “see you later” as she left him alone in their bedroom.

Over the last ten days post-hospitalization (and during those ten days she had been giving him the silent treatment), he was called in to four more whole-day missions, and had ended up in the med wing four times as well. Each time, Natasha would be called by Helen so she can help him go back to their floor, and because somebody needed to sign his recovery papers as part of documentation (and protocol), else he would have to wait for the following day so he could go back up to their floor.

Today, on day ten of Natasha’s mysterious silent treatment, it’s his fifth time to be called in a whole-day mission, and his fifth time to be sent back in the medical wing. After treating his stitches and patching him up with more bandages and treating his cuts and wounds, Helen sighs and shakes her head. “Nat wouldn’t be too pleased to see you here again, you know.” she tells him.

“Is she coming in?” he asks, and she nods. “Well, she’s not talking to me, so I wouldn’t know if she’s pleased or not.” he mutters.

And Helen gives him a funny look. “You’ve been married to her for ten years, had two children with her, and you still don’t know _ any _ damn thing about women?” she asks, and he furrows his eyebrows in confusion at the doctor as she chuckles and shakes her head. “You’re definitely something else, Captain Rogers.”

He’s about to ask what she meant, when Natasha comes storming in the medical unit he’s being treated in, a deep scowl on her face and a pile of folders in her arms. “Doctor Cho, a moment please.” she requests quietly, in _ that _ voice that’s chilling and horrifying—her Black Widow voice that she usually uses in interrogating criminals, as if she was there to interrogate and confront a criminal, and not to visit and sign off her husband’s recovery papers so he can continue recovering in their floor.

Helen nods. “I’ll be outside for the recovery papers.” she says, before turning away to leave, and she and Steve are left alone in the medical unit.

As soon as Natasha hears the door closing, she walks over to the bed and drops a pile of folders beside Steve, who looks at it confusedly, before lifting his eyes to his wife. Natasha rests her hands on her hips and frowns at him. “Those are all the reports of the last six missions you were in in the last three weeks, including the one with the whole team,” she tells him quietly. “In all of these missions, you were sent to the med wing, _ each _ mission giving you a fresh new set of injuries.”

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair as he shakes his head. “Nat, it’s—”

“I’ve read through all of these missions, figuring out for myself why in the world do you keep on ending up in the med wing after _ each _ mission,” she continues, immediately cutting him off, as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Tell me, Rogers, have you _ any _ idea how to actually fight or do you mostly just _ wing _ it in every mission you’re involved in?”

Steve frowns and knits his eyebrows together. “What?” he asks.

“Do you use your head before you actually swing your fists or charge by _ yourself, _ and do you even _ actually _ use your shield for protection?” she demands. “Or should I tell Tony to stop making new advancements for your shield because you actually _ refuse _ to use it to protect yourself?”

Steve shakes his head as he stands up and takes a step towards his wife. “Nat—” he tries, but he is immediately cut off by his wife again.

“You almost _ died, _ Steve!” she exclaims, raising her hands. “You almost _ died _ not once, not twice, but _ six _ goddamn times in less than a month! You charge yourself in first in _ any _ battle, and you _ willingly _ jump to take _ every _ bullet and every strike they can give to anyone. They could’ve _ killed _ you in any chance!”

“But they didn’t,” Steve answers calmly, taking another step towards Natasha who just crosses her arms over her chest and looks away as she takes a deep breath. “I didn’t. I’m still here. I’m alright.”

Natasha takes a shaky breath but says nothing as she shakes her head. Steve swallows down his throat and puts his hands on her arms, pulling her close to give her a soft kiss on the forehead. “I’m alright,” he assures him softly. “I’m alright.” He presses another kiss on her head as she sighs and closes her eyes, and even despite herself, she buries her face in his chest. “Let’s talk about it when we go up, okay? Just you and me, after we tuck the kids for the night.”

And Natasha pulls away and shakes her head as she steps away from him. “You’re not going anywhere,” she tells him quietly, and he furrows his eyebrows. “I’m not signing those papers.”

“What? Nat—” he tries, shaking his head.

“You’re staying here,” she tells him quietly, frowning as she looks at him, and he frowns. “You’re staying here, and you can go back to the floor first thing tomorrow morning.”

“What, _ Nat!” _ Steve exclaims just as Natasha starts to turn away and walk out of the unit, but Steve grabs her by the arm, and she glares up at him. “You can’t...you can’t—we have to talk, and we _ will _ talk, okay? We’ll go to bed together, sleep it off, and we’ll talk first thing—”

“No, _ you’re _going to be here, and _ I _ will be going to our bed in our floor after I tuck in James and Sarah for the night. I’m not signing those papers, Steve, you’re staying here.” she tells him quietly, and he frowns.

“You won’t even allow me to kiss our kids good night?” he asks, his voice raising slightly as her frown deepens and he sighs, willing to calm himself down. This is _ not _ the time to raise his voice on her, and he’s already _ too _ tired to even argue with her. “Nat, _ please _—”

“You put yourself in here, so _ you _ will be staying here!” she tells him with finality in her voice as she shrugs away from his grip. “You wanted this, right? You put yourself in the med wing, so you’ll be staying in the _ whole _ goddamn night here until the doctors says otherwise.”

“What would you tell James and Sarah?” he asks, frowning at his wife. “What would you tell them when they ask where I am?”

“I’ll tell them their father is a dumb reckless fool who doesn’t _ think _ about them whenever he charges himself first in a mission,” she answers him firmly, her voice breaking as tears gather in her eyes. “And he’s spending the night away from them so he can also know what it feels like to live a night without them, so for at least _ one _ night, he’ll think about how _ horrible _ it must feel like for them not to have _ both _ of his parents tuck them at night.”

And Steve’s eyes widen, as if struck by her words, as Natasha turns and exits the medical unit, and he watches her go. Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair as he walks back to the bed where the folders of the reports of his last few missions are. All of them had been raids and run-ins, and while he had a team as his backup, he had still acted like a lone soldier who _ did _ take in every bullet and every injury any of them could possibly have. But he had been the only capable one of protecting them and still coming out of it alive because of the serum running through his veins. Give him a few days, a few _ hours, _ even, and he’s back to his own regular shape. He knows how to take care of himself and protect himself, most especially in missions.

The door to his unit opens, and Helen enters in. “Your wife didn’t sign the papers,” she informs him, and he huffs out a breath and looks away. “So you’ll be discharged from here first thing tomorrow morning.” He looks back at her, as she gives him a small smile. “I hope you know now why she hasn’t been talking to you for the last few days you’ve been in the medical wing.”

He doesn’t, but he nods nonetheless, because he’s tired and wiped. She gives him a small nod and wishes him a good night, as he replies the same, and watches as Helen closes the door behind her. He turns his attention to the mission reports, and he sighs as he picks them up and reads all of it.

His name appears under the casualties header, detailing all of his incurred injuries, below it a short description and report of his injuries, and a disclaimer that due to the serum, he had come out of it alive. Below all of it was a narrative report of the missions, and as he scans through each mission report, he feels a sudden weight pull down in his chest as he sighs.

_ Captain Rogers charged in and attacked first, _ one of the mission says. _ Captain Rogers jumped in front of Agent Hart to take the bullet hit on the right portion of the chest, _ another one says. _ Captain Rogers tossed his shield, thus giving the mercenaries an opening to shoot him on the abdomen when he was at his most vulnerable, _ another says. On his most recent mission, the report states: _ Captain Rogers had broken the planned strategy and positioning, as soon as we were able to finally see the extent and scope of the mission. He charged and attacked first, and while he was able to take out a number of the guards present, as he was in a place where none of the agents were stationed and positioned (one he was fully aware of), he had been at his most vulnerable and incurred bullet wounds and minor scratch wounds. _ All the missions had been a success despite all of this, and even more so, he is _alive_ despite all of this.

_ But at what cost? _ A tiny voice inside his head says, and he immediately thinks back to Natasha’s own words: _ He’s spending the night away from them so he can also know what it feels like to live a night without them, so for at least one night, he’ll know how horrible it must feel like for them not to have both of his parents tuck them at night. _

A dumb, reckless fool—it’s what she called him, and only now is he starting to realize what that actually meant, especially _now_ as he thinks that she had read all of these reports before she stormed in and lashed out. And he begins to think she had the logical right to do so.

The first thing the following morning after being released from the medical unit, he proceeds to the training area where he knows Natasha would be training by herself. He finds her on the punching bag, kicking and punching hard, and if she had noticed him, she didn’t do nor say anything. He sighs and sits on one of the benches just watching her, and when she’s done, he stands up and approaches her as she removes the wraps in her hands.

“Did Helen say you can go?” she asks him quietly, and he hums, gently taking her hand to remove the wraps as she lets him.

“She came in early morning, made me sign papers before telling me I can go,” he answers softly, dropping the wraps on the floor as he takes her other hand. “It’s a separate form, apparently, one that’s different from what emergency contacts normally sign.” he tries saying lightly.

Natasha stays silent as she looks down, and upon his removal of his hand wraps, she crouches to pick them up and turns away from him. He sighs and purses his lips. “Did the kids sleep okay?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” she says, going back to where her things are so she can drink some water from her bottle without looking back at him. “They asked about you, and I told them what I told you I’d say.” She turns her head slightly towards him. “Only kiddified it a bit.”

Steve sighs and nods. “Did you sleep okay?” he asks softly, and she huffs out a breath, and he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Nat, we need to talk—”

“Just leave it alone, Steve!” she exclaims, facing back at him, and he flinched in surprise. “It was _ one _ night in the med wing. You injured yourself in a mission, you got hurt but you were healed because of the serum, like you _ always _ say so just forget about it.”

And Steve shakes his head. “Nat, I told you. Don’t worry about it—” he says softly.

“Don’t _ worry _ about it?” she repeats, her voice raising as she puts her water bottle down on the bench. “All I do is worry, all the time! I spend every minute of every _ day _ worrying that I’m gonna get a call that your injuries are far _ worse _ than you can handle, that Helen Cho is just gonna come by to our floor and tell me your serum can’t heal you anymore, and that _ I _ have to carry on living life and raising our two kids _ without _ you.” Her voice breaks, her eyes filling with tears as Steve’s eyes soften as he looks at his wife. _ “That’s _ why I left you in the med wing last night. So that just for a _ little _ while, I would know that you weren’t off on a mission, that you _ weren’t _ dying, that you were okay. I would know that you weren’t dying like you were dying in my dreams for the last couple of days. Because _ that’s _ all I can think about every time you go out on a mission without me.”

Steve sighs and looks at Natasha sadly as he shakes his head and places his hands on either side of her face, his thumbs brushing gently on her cheek. “I’m right here,” he assures her softly. “I’m okay, and we’re okay.”

Natasha just looks at him, her eyes wide, and her lips pursed in a straight line as a tear slips down from her eyes, one that Steve immediately wipes with his thumb. “You asked me what happened to me in our mission three weeks ago,” she tells him quietly, and he sighs and nods. She didn’t answer him, didn’t tell him what she had experienced. “Loki gave me visions. Visions of your dead body, of _ you _ dying in missions, visions that would recur every night that it would turn into a nightmare it wouldn’t let me sleep.” She pauses, as her chin quivers slightly. “And every time you would leave, and you would come home and Helen will call me in, I would think that he got it right. I would think that _ Loki _ won, and that he was right and that I'd have to start learning how to live without you.”

And Steve sighs, as his hands drop on her shoulders, giving it a light squeeze as he swallows down his throat and just looks at his wife. It’s why when he wakes up, she isn’t there. It’s why she was so withdrawn and _ so _ mad and silent every time he would go on a mission and would come home injured.

_ He’s spending the night away from them so he can also know what it feels like to live a night without them, so for at least one night, he’ll know how horrible it must feel like for them not to have both of his parents tuck them at night. _ Had she spent the last few nights since _ that _ mission, all the while feeling horrified out of her mind, thinking that she and the kids would have to be forced to live their lives without him?

“And I _don't_ want to think of having to live a life without you, Steve, not when I need you, not when I love you, and not when our kids love and still need you. And I will _never _stop loving you, and I will _never_ stop needing you,” she tells him quietly. “So I _don't_ want to think about it, but you've been living and fighting like you can't _wait_ for it to happen, and it hurts, Steve, and it drives me absolutely _insane._ Because it's all I am forced to think about even if I _don't_ want to think about it.”

“Nat,” he whispers, cupping her face again in his hands as he shakes his head lightly. “Sweetheart, you didn’t say anything.” He looks at her sadly, his eyebrows furrowing and rising slightly. “I could’ve helped you.” he tells her quietly.

Natasha swallows down her throat and looks up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “If you wanna help me, then the way you fight in missions is something you’d have to change,” she tells him softly. “Trust your team, don’t run in head first alone, allow them to protect you, and allow your _ shield _ to protect you.” She shakes her head as the corners of her mouth turn downward and more tears fill her eyes. “Do that. Just _ do _ that.”

Steve nods, giving her a small smile as he leans in to place a soft kiss on her lips, before pulling her in to his arms for an embrace. She wraps her arms around him as she sighs, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he presses a small kiss on the side of her head, running his hand on her back.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay, I promise.”

“You won’t break it?” she asks quietly, and he hums, tightening his embrace around her as he sighs.

“I won’t,” he assures her softly. “I won’t. I promise that too.” He pauses and sighs, pulling away slightly to look at his wife’s face, and he cups her face gently, his thumb brushing on the apple of her moist cheek. “But you have to promise to talk to me, okay? Tell me what’s bothering you, and tell me what’s upsetting you, even if it’s me, even if it’s something that I did, _especially_ if it's something that I did.” He gives her a soft kiss on her forehead as she sighs. “You promise me?”

She sniffles and nods. “Okay,” she whispers, and he gives her a small smile as she sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he says quietly, pressing a soft kiss on her lips. “I’m sorry too.” She nods, wrapping her arms around him again and burying her head in his chest as he plants a kiss on her head and embraces her, resting his cheek on her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be posting an update on Romanoff's Anatomy tomorrow! And check out as well my other AU series, Modern Love! As per usual, reviews, comments, prompts and kudos appreciated. :)


	46. Eyes on the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 46\. James and Sarah encounter their first ever real thunderstorm.
> 
> "James looks up at his mother and he frowns slightly. “I don’t wanna be scared of the storm, Mommy,” he confesses quietly, and Natasha brushes some of his hair off his forehead. “But Sarah’s right. I am too.” he says, as if crestfallen, ashamed and upset as Natasha just shakes her head and presses her lips on his forehead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a prompt (or is it? I'm not really sure), but just something that came in my head and I needed to write it down before the inevitable writer's block comes in again. Will work on prompts very soon, but for now, hope you enjoy!

Natasha is familiar with fears—the extent of it, the feeling that comes with it, the manifestations it brings to herself and to others, the same way Steve is too, to all of the aforementioned things.

For one, it’s because Natasha is the  _ Black Widow _ —the most  _ feared _ Russian spy and assassin the KGB had ever produced. All her life, she had watched and thrived on the fear that would always be evident as it etched on the faces of her marks and enemies once they realize who she was, as they realized who they were dealing with. She  _ lived _ for the fear especially directed towards her—lived with the look of horror her victims would have on their faces before she would take their lives, lived with the constant begs for their lives to be spared, their voices hushed, panicked, laced with fear on the brink of desperation as they did so. She had grown to encounter these looks and these begs like it were the morning sun—so normal, part of her routine as a spy she could practically just shrug it off and disregard it without empathy once she came across with it.

Natasha knew fear in the eyes of the other. But she was no stranger to fear in her own head as well.

While the Black Widow had thrived on fear on the field, she  _ lived _ with it behind closed doors. The Black Widow had very little list of fears, but her first and foremost fear had always been the fear of failure. Failure in the Red Room was more than just a reduction of ego, more than just a wounded pride, but it meant an array of things as well. Failure meant physical wounds and bruises from Madame B and her trainers, skipping meals because she wouldn’t be allowed to have any as a consequence of failure. Failure meant not having a place in the world, not being able to get out of the academy alive. Failure meant the end, as failure meant death.

And while Death is an old friend, one that had become a daily visitor she would bring with her marks and victims, she had refused to welcome him in  _ her _ own life as she feared him too. But Death would visit her in the form of nightmares, and in the form of dangerous or failed missions, and she would sweat and tremble at even its false visitations in her nightmares. She feared Death, and never wanted it near her or the people she loves the most. It’s one of the few fears she has, but it’s one of the biggest ones she would never think she could let go of.

While Captain America was known to be a fearless and courageous man, contrary to popular culture portrayals of who he is, the man underneath the star-spangled suit and shield—Steve Rogers—had plenty of fears on his plate. Unlike his wife, he had never thrived and lived for the fear, he would face it head-on and fight it, hoping he would win in the end. Perhaps  _ that’s _ what made him courageous—his ability to face fear and fight so he can never succumb to it. When he was younger, he had feared many things—the world outside the confines of his home, the water, the idea of fisticuffs, losing his loved ones and ultimately, death. But when he got older, when times got tough and he had received the call to serve his country and his people, he had the chance to overcome these fears by facing it and fighting against it. Ultimately, he  _ had, _ by being Captain America, and it’s what made him believe he was a courageous man.

He had faced these fears and fought with it head-on: starting with losing his mother to losing his best friend, to fighting against Nazis and soldiers and crashing Valkyrie in the Arctic, to eventually waking up to a new century with new people and a new world. One would think that even as he had faced all of these and still thrived in the end, he would still come out as a fearless man, but he isn’t. Not in the least.

Despite fighting them, Steve still feared psychopaths, titans and aliens whose sole aim is to destroy and take over the world. He feared losing his team, still feared dangerous missions that would require him to still suit up and leave for weeks, uncertain when he would have to come back. He feared losing his wife, watching her get hurt and watching her go upset. He feared losing his kids, watching  _ them _ get hurt in all aspects—whether it be as small and simple as a scrape on the knee or something so abstract like somebody bullying them at school. He feared failing, not coming home, and  _ dying, _ especially not being able to live long enough to watch his kids grow and enjoy retirement eventually with his wife.

When someone,  _ anyone _ would ask them what their fears would be—they would mention all of these. Because as far as they knew, there was no such thing as an innocent fear. All fears are big, all fears come in the form of big, scary monsters—

James shrieks, burying his face further in his mother’s chest as Sarah flinches in surprise and cries, clinging tighter to her father, as both Steve and Natasha look up at the huge window in their bedroom to watch a luminous glowing crooked line crack across the sky, followed by a loud rumble of thunder, as the rain torrents poured hard against the glass of their window. Both parents wrap their arms tightly and securely around their respective children, with Natasha holding a seven-year-old James who is obviously trying  _ so _ hard to appear brave but is slowly failing to do so, while Steve holds the two-year-old Sarah tightly, crying silently and hiding beneath the pink blanket Steve has draped on her head so she wouldn’t hear too much of the thunder and lightning from the storm outside.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve says softly, in an attempt to comfort his daughter as he leans to press a kiss on her head as she sniffles quietly and squirms in his arms. “It’s okay, princess, Daddy’s here. I got you.”

“Stop, Dada,” Sarah pleads, her voice muffled as she presses her face against Steve’s shirt as he rubs her back gently, pulling the little girl even closer to his chest, his chin resting on top of her head. “Stop...stop stowm, pwease.”

And he  _ wants _ to, God, does he  _ want _ to so bad so his little girl and his little man could stop shivering and weeping silently. “I can’t, sweetie. We have to wait for it to stop,” he replies softly, looking over at Natasha who is pressing small and soft kisses on James’ hair, mumbling something as the boy clutches tighter to his mother’s shirt. “It’s gonna stop soon, okay? We just have to wait for it.”

“How long will this last?” James asks in a small voice, looking up at his mother, and Natasha’s heart breaks at seeing her son’s usually bright blue sparkling eyes be replaced with a set of glassy blue ones filled with tears as he does his best to hold it in.  _ I’m a big boy now, _ he would say,  _ I’m not s’posed to cry. _ Her thumbs gently brush on the spots under his eyes as she presses her lips on his forehead, her fingers lightly brushing his scarlet hair that matches hers.

“It’s gonna end soon, babe,” Natasha says softly, giving her little boy a smile and rubbing her nose against his. “Don’t you worry, okay? Mommy’s here.” She presses a kiss on James’ nose as she pulls him close. “I got you.”

Another bright lightning flashes across the sky, and the two kids flinch at the sharp, loud crack, followed by a loud and angry rumbling of thunder, and Sarah whimpers, one of her hands extending as if in search for something, and it stops when she feels James’ hand as she grips as tightly as a two-year-old can. James lifts his head and squeezes his sister’s hand gently, as if assuredly, as he gives her a small quivering smile—but a  _ smile, _ nonetheless, if only to quell his younger sister’s nerves.

Natasha sees this, and she looks up to find Steve looking at the sight as well, giving his wife a smile as their eyes meet. Natasha hums and inches closer towards her husband, so their children could also be close too, and Steve wraps an arm around Natasha’s shoulder, pulling her even closer to him as he presses a kiss on the side of her head.

“The storm won’t stop, will it?” he asks her quietly, as she hums, resting her head on his shoulder, and he sighs, leaning his head on hers. “It looks like it’s gonna last all night.”

“The rain would last all night,” Natasha tells her husband. “The lightning and thunder, though—it might pass in a while. The kids can go to sleep once it does.”

It’s very late in the evening already, and both she and Steve had tucked in the kids in their respective rooms just three hours prior during their bedtime. When they had tucked their children in, the storm was just beginning to brew, and Steve and Natasha had thought nothing about it as, after tucking the children for the night, they went back to the living room to relax by themselves—Natasha reading a book while her fingers brush absentmindedly through Steve’s hair as his head rests on her lap, while he closes his eyes and listens to the soft background music playing in their living room stereo. It’s a silent evening, a perfect and rare opportunity for the couple to spend some quiet time with the other’s company without having to worry about a thing.

And even when the rain started to pour, making soft tapping sounds against the window, neither paid much attention to it. Steve had just opened his eyes, turned his head to look at the living room window to find thick dark clouds in the sky and small drops of rain puttering against the glass, and he hummed. “Didn’t know a storm was coming in.” he mumbled, resting his head back on his wife’s lap and looking up at her as she hummed and looked back down at her husband.

“Didn’t know either, but I’m sure it won’t be too big,” she told him, the corner of her mouth quirking upward a little. “‘Sides, you know rainy weather meant good cuddling weather, right?” Steve chuckled and nodded.

“Guess we’ll both be having a good night’s sleep, then.”

Turns out, they probably wouldn’t get any, especially when the rain started to pour hard and there were flashes of lightning and low rumbles of thunder. In no time, when both of them heard a sharp and loud crack followed by a roaring loud thunder—the first one of the night—they also heard the familiar sounds of Sarah wailing and James calling for his Mommy. The two immediately got up, with Natasha proceeding to James’ room while Steve proceeding to Sarah’s to gather their children in their arms as they brought them to their bedroom, where they are now.

Because it turns out, apparently, that fears are not always big, as it can sometimes be innocent. That fears don’t necessarily take the form of huge, scary monsters and the black-hooded shadow of Death, but it can also be in the simple form of a crack of lightning and thunderous rumble one innocent evening.

“Mommy, can you tell Uncle Thor to stop?” James asks, looking back up at his mother with wide eyes and a slight frown. “Maybe we could give him some of our chocolates so he can stop.” 

And both parents  _ had _ to stop themselves from uttering even a small, single chuckle, especially when they see their little girl bobbing her head up and down in agreement as she looks at her parents almost pleadingly with a small pout on her lips. Natasha smiles down at her little girl and couldn’t help but press a small kiss on her forehead as the little girl whimpers.

_ Yes, _ they  _ know _ their Uncle Thor is the god of thunder, and  _ yes, _ both Steve and Natasha (as well as Tony and Pepper—with Morgan) had taken advantage of that fact by pleading the god to withhold the release of any loud thunder and lightning during any storms that may hit New York, but as of recent, the god had warned his friends to stop asking him these kinds of request as it may screw up with Earth’s regular biosphere regulation, and another  _ yes, _ because all the kids know their Uncle Thor is the god of thunder (it’s not the parents’ fault, totally, as Thor brags about it once in a while too, anyway, as part of his “cool uncle party trick”).

But  _ no, _ they can’t ask their Uncle Thor to make the thunder stop, not anymore, at least.

“Both thunder and lightning have their own importance in maintaining a certain biospheric balance of the planet,” he had lectured them once after a storm that had very recently hit New York, as if he was giving a science crash course to his friends, and not to respond to his friends’ request for the sake of their children—the god’s nephew and nieces. “I simply cannot interfere with it any longer after doing so a couple of times already, or many more possible catastrophic events will follow.”

_ Yeah, _ as if two scared and crying kids in the middle of the night wasn’t catastrophic enough.

“That’s not Uncle Thor, baby,” Natasha replies to her kids, giving them a small assuring smile. “And we can’t ask for him to stop it just yet.”

“Why no?” Sarah asks in a small voice, wincing when she hears another soft rumble from outside, as she inches closer to her father’s chest. “Me, Jimmie...scawed, Mama. Pwease stop.” Her pout deepens, as her eyes flicker between her father’s and mother’s eyes. “Stop, pwease.”

It  _ seems _ pathetic, really—for these two people who had gone through a lot in their life, had  _ seen _ a lot in their lives and had to endure and get through  _ big _ fears in their lives—for them to hear that their kids had something so  _ simple _ as loud thunders and lightnings as one of their biggest fears that would not let them sleep at night. It’s so easy to laugh at, shrug it off, and tell them that there are bigger monsters and shadows out there than just loud rumbling sounds and huge cracking lightning across the sky. It seems such a small deal, compared to the ones they’ve already seen and experienced when  _ they _ were in at least James’ current age; when she was a student of the Red Room, and he was a scrawny bullied little kid in Brooklyn.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? They’ve seen  _ so  _ much, experienced  _ so _ much it’s not really normal for kids at age seven, that mundane things such as thunder and lightning had never fazed them at all. Natasha, at age seven, by then had already close encounters with death as a pawn in the missions of the KGB, while Steve, at age seven, by then had already close encounters with death because of his wide array of illnesses and close encounters with bullies. By then, they knew enough to know that thunder and lightning won’t hurt them as much as the Russian government will, or their own bodies would—even if it  _ could, _ it’s just that there are worse things or worse people who can do it even faster than those. They don’t want their kids to reach that stage—to be fazed by things kids should fear, and to fear things not even  _ all _ adults feared, like how they had been.

_ Wow, _ the wild realizations they can get during a stormy night cuddled with their kids.

James looks up at his mother and he frowns slightly. “I don’t wanna be scared of the storm, Mommy,” he confesses quietly, and Natasha brushes some of his hair off his forehead. “But Sarah’s right. I am too.” he says, as if crestfallen, ashamed and upset as Natasha just shakes her head and presses her lips on his forehead.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay to be scared,” she tells him softly, rubbing his back gently as another rumble passes and he winces and squirms in her arms. “It’s okay to be scared of some things.”

But James’ eyes are wide as he looks back and forth between his mother and father. “But superheroes aren’t supposed to be scared of anything,” he says quietly. “You and Daddy aren’t scared of anything.”

Natasha and Steve exchange a look—as if saying  _ if only you knew, _ as she gives her husband a small smile, and Steve nods understandingly. He looks down at his children, as Sarah is also looking up expectedly over at her parents, and he gives them a small smile. “Superheroes are scared of some things too.” he tells them softly.

James’ eyes widen, his mouth slightly opening in surprise as he shakes his head, while Sarah furrows her eyebrows and tilts her head confusedly. “That’s not true,” James says. “You and Mommy aren’t scared of anything.”

“Oh, your Mommy and I have a few,” Steve says lightly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward as Natasha’s smile grew wider. “They’re only a few, but...they’re still stuff we’re scared of.”

James looks between both his parents, eyebrows furrowed and blinking confusedly, while Sarah tilts her head to the side. “Wike?” she prompts, and Natasha has to chuckle at that, brushing her fingers through the little girl’s soft blonde hair.

_ Like many, many dark and big things. _

“Well,” Natasha starts, her mind whirring and thinking, looking at her husband, and giving him a teasing smile before turning back to her children. “I know your Daddy is still scared of those prickly needles doctors give to patients, those with lots of medicine Uncle Bruce used to give you guys before.”

Steve frowns slightly at that, but it later grows into a smile when he sees his children gasp, as James lets out a soft giggle. “Daddy, you’re scared of flu shots.” he says softly, and Sarah giggles too, as Steve laughs softly and shakes his head.

“And your Mommy’s scared of butterflies,” Steve says, and Sarah gasps loudly, and Steve chuckles, looking at his wife who’s trying her best to stifle the smile forming on her lips. “She doesn’t like it when they land on her, or even fly too close to her.”

“Mama,” Sarah giggles, and that’s effective enough to make Natasha’s mouth break into a smile as she lets out a soft laugh. “Mama no tatowfwy.” she says softly, and Natasha laughs and shakes her head.

“And there’s many more,” Steve says, looking at James with a smile. “‘Cause it’s okay to be scared sometimes, especially for superheroes.” Because fear is good, as it means they still have something left to lose, and as they look down at their children in their arms, they know they have  _ so _ much to lose, thus the  _ many _ fears they still have despite the many things they had gone through in their lives.

And they suppose they  _ aren’t _ at all completely fazed despite the experiences they’ve gone through as kids after all. They still have small fears, small mundane ones that are easy to laugh at, and even if it’s not as terrifying for them as when they face the big ones, they’re still fears—fears they had come to realize just now that they had become parents to two beautiful angels, beyond the big ones like loss and death. Innocent fears still exist, and it's okay to still be scared of a few of them.

And like they had told their kids earlier as the thunder roared and lightning cracked, it’s okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A volcano in my country just erupted, my city's affected by ashfall, and my kid nieces are getting really scared and paranoid when they saw the news on TV—thus this idea of disasters and fear. Hope my readers who are affected by the eruption in PH are okay and well!
> 
> And as per usual, reviews, comments and kudos are appreciated! Also, check out other works on my profile: Romanoff's Anatomy and Modern Love series!
> 
> (P.S. butterfly fears are real. I have those too huhu)


	47. One Best Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 47\. Prompt: "Before Sarah and David even came to be, Steve takes Sarah out for a date and shows her how a man should treat her."
> 
> "“Do you do those things with Mom too?” she asked, and Steve hummed and nodded, smiling widely. “She used to get really annoyed with me at first, but you know how your Mom is,” he said, and he grinned widely. “At first, she’ll say she doesn’t like it, but later on she’s gonna give in anyway.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from a prompt made by natrgrs from chapters ago that I saw on my list! (hello fellow filo hope u r doing ok!) Hope you guys enjoy!

When Sarah was five years old, she recalls one afternoon, when she and her father were lounging in the living room, her sitting on her father’s lap, as she rests back on his chest. His lips were pressed on her head as they go through with watching Beauty and the Beast for the third time that day, all at Sarah’s request. She was humming along to the tunes, and her father tried to hum along, and albeit being off-tune, it still made her smile and laugh more than the movie itself.

And by the end of the movie, he asked her, “Do you wanna watch it again?” like  _ he’s _ the one excited to watch it again, when in reality, he only wanted to see the smile on her face, hear her voice humming along to the tunes, and her laughter ringing in the living room as he attempted to sing along.

But she didn’t want that. “Maybe next time,” she told her father, who hummed and pressed a kiss on her head. She turned and faced him as he balanced her on his lap, and she grinned widely. “I want ice cream and play in the park.” she told him.

And he laughed, brushing off some hair on her face, his hands cupping her cheeks and brushing it smoothly on her rosy cheeks. He leaned to rub his nose against hers and she hummed and giggled, scrunching her nose as she pulled away, still grinning widely at her father, silently persuading her father to bring her to the park to play and get some ice cream in their favorite ice cream store across the park.

“Play in the park?” he asked, and Sarah nodded. “D’you wanna bring Jamie along so he can play too?”

“Little Jamie’s asleep. He’s pretty wiped from soccer practice this morning,” her mother came in, and her smile brightened as Natasha smiled, walking over to them and sitting beside Steve. Sarah watched as her father smiled and pressed a chaste kiss on her lips, as she hummed and ran her hand through her husband’s hair. Natasha turned to Sarah and smiled as she leaned to press a kiss on the tip of her nose and Sarah laughed softly. “Wanna get some ice cream and play in the park, babe?”

Sarah hummed and nodded. “Will you come with us, Mommy?” she asked, and Natasha laughed softly.

“I can’t, baby, Jamie’s asleep and someone has to watch him,” she told her softly, and Sarah’s face fell. But Natasha laughed and shook her head, leaning to press a kiss on her forehead. “But Daddy’s going with you, okay? Is that okay?” Sarah nodded, looking up at her father as he smiled and nodded. “Why don’t you go change clothes before you and Daddy go, hm?” She pressed another kiss on the side of her head and smoothed her blonde curls.

“Okay,” Sarah responded, nodding as she hopped off her father’s lap. She looked up at her mother and asked, “Mommy, will you help me?”

“Of course, I’ll be right there, sweetie.” Natasha responded, smiling, and Sarah grinned brightly, skipping over to her room so she can scan whatever clothes she would change to before her day with her father.

She pulled her closet and open and looked up at it, and she can remember wondering what she should change to. It had been a hot and sunny Saturday afternoon in July, and she wondered what she can possibly wear so she wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable because of the temperature and humidity outside. Before she could decide, her mother entered her room, and she suggested that she wear this light blue sleeveless dress, the skirt of it reaching her knees, since she had mentioned it was hot outside, and that she looked beautiful in that simple dress.

So she changed into those, as Natasha pulled her hair into a ponytail, smoothing and fixing her full bangs. She had smiled at her, told her she was beautiful as Sarah beamed brightly at her mother as she told her she was beautiful. She put her white sneakers and ran to the living room, where her father was waiting for her, and when he turned and saw her, his eyes widened and he smiled widely and brightly at her as he crouched down and extended his arms. She laughed as she ran over to her father who embraced her and pressed a kiss on her head.

He pulled away to look at her, and she remembered his eyes were bright and gleaming as he did, and he told her, “You look beautiful, princess.” And she giggled, bouncing on the balls of her feet because she  _ felt _ beautiful, because of the way her father looked and smiled at her, and because he told her so, and she trusted her father.

They had ice cream, where she remembered her father buying her double chocolate ice cream while he got strawberry cheesecake ice cream. She told him stories while he sat her on one of the chairs in the booths in the parlor, and he listened attentively, contributing his own stories and commenting on her own. They laughed a lot when they were talking, and when they were done, he brought her to the park, where he allowed her to play with the other kids as he watched, and where he played with her when she asked him so. And while a few people came in to ask for pictures with him, she didn’t mind, and when she decided she was tired and some people still came in and asked for photos with him (some of them wanted to include her), but she had been shy and wanted to go home, so he politely declined, carrying Sarah in his arms as they walked back home.

She had a wonderful afternoon with her father, and both of them got back home just in time for dinner. And she remembered when her father tucked her that night in bed, she asked him if they could do that again—going out for ice cream in their favorite ice cream parlor and playing in the park, because she enjoyed spending time with him, because she felt safe with him and she felt so loved and he always made her feel so beautiful whenever she was with him. She made him promise they would do it again—ice cream and playing in the park, because she has days spent and dedicated with her brother, has Ballet Time with her mother, but she never had anything with her father until now.

And she remembered him promising her, “How about every other Saturday we go out for ice cream and time in the park?” he asked her softly. “It’ll be like Daddy and Sarah Time. How does that sound?” She nodded enthusiastically, and he pressed a kiss on her forehead, wishing her a good night, telling her he loved her, before she drifted off to sleep.

That was the start of her regular Saturdays with her father. When she was five, she expected she would only have some fun time with her father, but little did she know that spending these kinds of regular Saturdays with her father would teach her a lot about her family, about her parents, and of course, about life in general.

* * *

When she was eleven years old, she remembers suggesting to her father that instead of spending their regular Saturdays in their usual ice cream parlor, and afterwards going to play in the park, they would explore all the food chains and restaurants all over Manhattan.

It had started off basically to tease James, because he had been in that phase where he decided he wanted to explore the option being vegetarian or vegan (still to this day, she cannot recall  _ why _ her brother decided to opt for going down the path of a vegetarian or vegan, but she figured it was because Morgan had been a vegetarian, and he wanted to empathize with his best friend for her limited options of meals), so every time she and Steve would come home just in time for dinner (after spending lunch until late afternoon in a restaurant and  _ then _ a dessert place), she would start telling her mother and brother about the dishes she and Steve had tried. It had become helpful, because her father had gained new ideas for new date places to bring her mother to during  _ their _ regular date nights, and it had become helpful in her case to have an upper hand over her brother and tease him of how good the steak is in this restaurant, or how good the fried chicken is in  _ this _ restaurant.

James had lasted being a vegetarian for about a month at maximum, and he blamed it all on Sarah, but that's another story for another time.

But she remembers the first time she and her father decided to do that change of pace. It had been an autumn Saturday afternoon, and her mother had just given her a beautiful maroon dress for her birthday the month prior. And it was a beautiful dress, one that matched the colors of autumn in New York, so she had worn that while her mother braided her hair (upon her request). She kissed her cheek, told her she was beautiful, cupped her cheek and told her to meet her father in the living room, as he was waiting for her already. She ran to the living room, a bright smile on her face, giggling especially when her father’s face lit up when he saw her, crouching down and opening his arms so she could run to his embrace.

She remembers her father’s laugh, when he pulled away and looked at her—that look of admiration, as if she was the most beautiful girl in the room,  _ that _ look that would always make  _ her _ feel beautiful, like a princess, as how her father would call her endearingly. Even then, she would never get tired of the way he would tell her in his gentle voice, “You look beautiful, princess.” And she remembers giggling, bouncing on her feet as he pressed a kiss on her cheek before getting up, asking her if she was ready to go.

Her mother came in, telling them to have fun, and she remembers smiling widely when she watched her father wrap his arms around her mother, pulling her in for a chaste kiss and rubbing his nose against hers. She recalls herself wondering if her father also made her mother feel like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, and by the look on her mother’s face—the way she smiled and stroked his cheek lovingly—she recalls answering her own question: that  _ yes, _ Steve Rogers has a way with his girls to make them feel like they’re the most beautiful beings in the entire world, and she remembers telling herself she was the luckiest little girl to have a father as loving as him.

They sang to Disney songs in the car as her father drove, and when she turned the volume up, her father didn’t complain, but rather laughed and just sang louder alongside her as they drove to the restaurant. When he pulled over at the curb in front of her requested restaurant for that day, she remembers her father telling her to wait before she would get off of the car. So she waited, watched her father step out of the car and close his side of the door, her eyes trained and watching him as he walked over to  _ her _ side of the car and opening the door for her so she could step out, which she did so with a smile—but she was rather confused.

He did so again when he let go of her hand so he could walk right ahead to the restaurant front, and pulled the door open so she could enter first and he would follow. It felt  _ good, _ like she was being looked after, like she was being put first, like she was important and the most beautiful little girl in that restaurant, but she figured—why? And when her father led her to one of the booths, he pulled a chair out, and while she expected that  _ he _ would be the one seated on the chair he just pulled out, she was surprised when her father laughed and told her that the seat he pulled out was meant for  _ her. _

And she remembers asking her father, once the waiter got their orders, “Dad, why do you open the door for me when I can do it myself?” She tilted her head, squinting her eyes as she frowned slightly and looked back at her father. “You do it to Mom too, but Mom and I have arms to open the door, and also pull chairs.” she said it as a matter-of-factly, like it’s something he didn’t know nor notice, and she remembers her father laughing softly, shaking his head and clasping his hands as he leaned forward to the table.

“I know you and Mom both have arms, baby,” he laughed softly. “And I know you’re both capable of opening doors and pulling out chairs, but I still do it because it’s like  _ good _ manners, something you should do for others. Not really something you should only do for girls—like you and Mommy—but even for others too.”

“Like I can do it to you and Jamie?” she asked, and her father chuckled and nodded.

“Because it’s a sign of respect, and a sign of good manners, especially coming from the person doing it,” he told her, and then he smiled. “When the day comes, Sarah, that a boy will one day tell you and ask you on a date—”

“Gross!” Sarah exclaimed, scrunching her nose in disgust, and Steve laughed softly, shaking his head. “Boys are gross, Dad! I don’t  _ like _ them! Well...except you and Jamie, and Coop and Nathan and Uncle Bucky...but my uncles are sometimes yucky too—”

“Sarah,” her father laughed, and she remembers grinning widely at the way her father threw his head back, his hand clutching his chest as he laughed loudly and heartily. She had made him laugh  _ so _ hard even just by speaking up her mind just like that! “Don’t  _ say _ that.”

“It’s true, Dad! I’m not gonna go out on  _ dates _ with boys, they’re yucky! I’m not gonna go out on  _ dates, _ period.” she said, as if as a finality, and looking back, she just  _ has _ to laugh at herself for how she was as an eleven-year-old: an independent, feisty, stubborn and strong-willed kid, and most of her aunties and uncles, even her father had likened her to her mother—as if  _ that _ would make her change her ways. But she remembers, too, the way her father’s smile softened—as if  _ relieved _ she was never gonna go out on dates and her father  _ never _ had to worry about boys hovering around his daughter. (Joke’s on him—years later, she  _ did _ actually say yes to  _ one _ date from a boy she likes, but more on that later).

“Okay, baby,” her father had relented with a wide smile, his eyes bright and sparkling as he looked at her amusingly. “But I’m just saying—one day, when a boy will ask you out on a date. Make sure to look out for three things, alright You listening, princess?” Sarah pouted, because she didn’t  _ want _ to hear it, but this is her Dad talking and somehow she knew how much  _ this _ piece meant so much for him to tell her, so she nodded, and Steve chuckled softly. “First, you make sure before  _ anything _ else, before  _ any _ conversation happens, make sure he’s going to tell you that you look beautiful. And make sure that even if he doesn’t  _ tell _ you that you look beautiful, he will make you  _ feel _ beautiful, even without saying it. You get me?”

She nodded, because she did. Because with her Dad, he would always tell her  _ and _ make her feel like she’s the most beautiful girl there is, before  _ any _ of their Saturday dates, and even on normal days. She knew he treated her mother the same way, as she would always overhear her father telling her mother how beautiful she is each time before he would give her a kiss—and he would give her a kiss many times in one day! She remembers wondering if her mother ever got sick of it—being told everyday that she looked beautiful, when she  _ knew _ and when she was confident enough of how she looked—but over time, if Sarah never got tired of her father telling her every time that she looked beautiful, what more with her mother, his wife?

“And second,” he continued. “You make sure he knows his manners—meaning, he would open the door for you, make sure you get in the place you’ll be going in first. I know it’s a little old-fashioned, and I  _ know _ you’re going to say that you can open the door by yourself.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she giggled lightly. “But that would just show how much the boy—the  _ man _ respects you; that he is willing to put you first, he is willing to look out for you and take care of you.”

She remembers being confused, and she tilted her head in confusion. “Even with just opening the door?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows, and Steve hummed and nodded.

“And even with pulling out the chair for you, which is the  _ third, _ because the small things count. You can see how much a boy would respect you, would  _ value _ you, and eventually  _ love _ you, even in the smallest things such as those,” he told her, and she hummed, nodding slowly as it started to make sense—and it  _ did _ make sense. “You have to know how you  _ should _ be treated right, because you deserve to be treated right.”

“Do you do those things with Mom too?” she asked, and Steve hummed and nodded, smiling widely.

“She used to get really annoyed with me at first, but you know how your Mom is,” he said, and he grinned widely. “At first, she’ll say she doesn’t like it, but later on she’s gonna give in anyway.”

And Sarah laughed and nodded, because  _ yes, _ that  _ did _ sound like her mother. “I bet she loves it.” she told him with a wide grin, and he laughed too, and they proceeded to talk about more things, especially so when their food arrived, and they started to talk about how  _ they _ would tease James about this new restaurant, as she remembers her father talking about how he should bring Natasha there for a date too.

That had been when she was eleven, and since then, her father had made it a point to do all those things each Saturday they go out on their usual father-and-daughter time until she eventually got used to it—like it’s all part of their routine. And when the rest of her family went out one night for an intimate dinner just the four of them in one of the restaurants Sarah and Steve had recommended (the time when James  _ finally _ gave up on his quest to be a vegetarian), she finally did notice, with a smile, at how her father would open the door for his wife and children, and how he would pull the chair out for his wife to sit in, and the smile he would give her as he would do so.

* * *

And Sarah smiles as she thinks about these moments, and more so smiles widely, especially as she looks across her and finds David scanning the menu in front of her as they go on their first  _ official _ date (as a legal couple approved by her family—thank God).

She doesn’t know if her father had given  _ him _ the shovel talk, or if her brother ever did (and if so, David hadn’t mentioned anything), but what she knew was that the moment David laid his eyes on her when he picked her up from the Tower, his face lit up, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked at her with a smile and told her first thing, “You look beautiful, Sarah.” before giving her a soft kiss on the cheek and handing her a bouquet of flowers. She had opened the door for her when they got to the restaurant, and pulled the chair out for her to sit, making sure she was comfortable enough before he sat across from her.

David looks up from the menu, and he smiles at her, extending his hand to rest over hers on the table. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asks softly, and she chuckles softly, shaking her head.

She knows what a good man is—how a good man should treat her, because she’s had two her whole life. But she focuses on one particular man who has definitely set the standard on how she should  _ really _ be treated—that same man who had taken her out on  _ lots _ and lots of dates since she was a little girl, and one who would always take her out to many more, because even if she  _ has _ a man who can take her out on romantic dates, she could never say no to the man whom she knows will always make her beautiful and loved, the one who will never break her heart—her Dad, Steve Rogers.

Sarah smiles at David, flipping her hand to give his a light squeeze, as he smiles widely. “Just thinking of what food to get,” she tells him softly, and she looks around the restaurant—this  _ same _ restaurant she went with her father when she was eleven, when she had learned what she was worth treating for, giving David a wide smile. “I heard the Four Cheese pizza here’s pretty great.”

David laughs softly and nods. “Then we’ll have the Four Cheese pizza with some pasta then.” he responds, and she smiles widely and nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE inspiration from my own Dad ofc with especially with the male dating etiquettes!
> 
> Check out my other works, most especially the latest one, Romanoff's Anatomy for some heavy slow drama! And reviews, comments, kudos and prompts super appreciated!


	48. A Soft World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 48\. Prompt: "Steve got hurt real bad and fell into coma."
> 
> "“We’re not finished yet, Steve,” she whispers. “You and me. We’re not finished yet, we’re not done yet.” She pauses as she takes a shaky breath. “So you have to wake up, Steve. You have to wake up, please.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry posting got delayed! Was out of town for a few days for research, and lacked time creating fics. Creativity is also still sparse but I definitely tried my best on this one, still. Prompt from ninawiinaa! Thank you so much for this prompt. I modified it a little, but I hope you still enjoy!

_ I’m sorry. _

She wants it badly to shrug it off, brush off these statements because it’s generally nothing—it  _ should _ be nothing. She doesn't even understand the necessity and weight of this statement because nobody has to be sorry for anything, especially not her, not her friends, not her son’s uncles, not her husband’s teammates— _ nobody. _ She doesn't ever want to hear it from _anyone,_ not until she understands.

Well, she doesn't want to, except from the asshole who blew an entire building up while her husband had been there, and the debris that fell over him, as well as the bullets stuck in his body as he was crushed under the pile of what had once been a twenty-storey building. She supposes that  _ they _ should be telling her that they’re sorry. But at this point, there’s no point. There’s no point, because it’s  _ done. _ Because if their aim was to crush Captain America’s body until he was reduced to a pile of ashes, then they nearly succeeded— _ nearly, _ but not quite. Just  _ almost. _

Because here he is, in front of her, lying on a white hospital bed, connected to tubes and machines that would feed him and help him breathe, eyes closed and unconscious, bandages all over his body that it had been difficult to recognize him because he was practically covered with bandages and gauzes underneath his hospital gown. The corners of her eyes sting once again, as a fresh wave of tears fill her eyes, a heavy weight filling her chest that she felt the need to sit down on the chair beside his bed and hold his pale bruised hand, even if he wouldn’t hold back. She just needs him, to  _ feel _ him and hold him even if he wouldn’t hold back because he  _ couldn’t _ hold back. She needs to hold on to him because he is her anchor, and because holding on to him is like holding on to hope—hope that he will wake up, that she would be able to look back at those bright beautiful blue eyes she sees in her son, those that she fell in love with, those that she had  _ missed _ for the last four days he’s been here. She needs to hold him because she _needs_ to understand, and while she doesn't know _how_ can holding him be of any service or contribution to her understanding, she does it so, anyway.

Because nothing in the world beats the sucky feeling of _not_ being able to understand, especially situations like these happening to people like _him,_ to people like _them._

It had only been  _ four _ days, yet for her, it felt like a lifetime, and it’s killing her every minute. And no amount of “I’m sorry” from people who don’t deserve to say it would fix it nor make her understand everything, so  _ no, _ she doesn’t want to hear any of it anymore. She wants to shrug everything off, brush these off, because  _ these _ won’t save her husband. These statements will not bring the father of her son his consciousness and strength.

A tear slides down her cheeks as she squeezes his hand, feeling her heart clenching, her bottom lip wobbling as her vision blurs as she looks at him. She sniffles, using her free hand to wipe the tears from her face with the back of her hand, and she takes a shaky breath, blinking a few times before she refocuses her eyes on him.

“Steve,” she whispers breathily, her chin quivering as she bites her bottom lip, the corners of her mouth turning downward as she shakes her head, squeezing his hand a little tighter as she knits her eyebrows together. “Steve.” she calls breathily, almost forcefully as if saying his name would wake him up, as if saying his name would make him squeeze her hand back, open his eyes and look at her and smile, as if  _ ordering _ him to wake up to be okay.

It could work, but at this point, she highly doubts.

“Steve, wake up,” she orders weakly and quietly, her voice breaking as more tears flow down her face as she lets out a choked sob and shakes her head, her eyebrows furrowing as she grips on his hand tighter. “Wake up, Rogers.  _ Wake up.” _

He was brought in five days ago after a mission involving mercs for a weapons deal in Mexico. It was him, Tony, Rhodey and Clint in the mission which would supposedly last for one whole day and even less should everything go smooth.

But instead of everything going smooth, everything went  _ south. _

The report created by Tony, one that he submitted only  _ yesterday, _ because he’d been too guilt-ridden and busy taking care of James and Morgan, and looking after her and Steve, to even start on the post-mission report. And even then, she still couldn't understand _what_ happened beyond the medical reports—multiple fractures, brain injuries, heart injuries, and many others. The report had to be revised and re-edited because it had been incomplete and general, and missions involving a casualty as serious as the ones Steve incurred should be  _ specific, _ detailed in the account of what happened and what went down the mission that led to the incident. But Tony, and the rest of the team, had been too preoccupied, too shaken up because of the incident, and the consequences that followed after, so they were only able to cover a bare minimum amount of it, not being able to understand themselves _why_ or _how_ their Captain had taken the brunt of the casualties meant for the whole team.

It’s where she’d been hearing the phrase over and over again.  _ I’m sorry. _ Tony had been sorry, so had been Rhodey and Clint, and practically the rest of the team, and they’ve said it so many times it’s almost  _ sickening _ down to the pit of her stomach to even hear it.  _ I’m sorry _ —like he was  _ gone, _ like it’s  _ their _ fault her husband’s practically a vegetable despite the serum running through his veins, like it’s only used to empathize, quell unease and fill the silence.

But it won’t make him wake up. It  _ can’t _ make him wake up.

“Steve,” she says his name again in a hushed whisper, lifting his hand with both of her hands clasped around his, and pressing her lips to a sloppy kiss at the back of his hand, her thumbs brushing on his bruised knuckles. She lets one hand go so her fingers can brush through his blonde hair gently and soothingly, just the way he likes it, just the way it soothes him and calms him down.

“Two kids,” she whispers, her thumb brushing on his forehead as she chokes back a sob. “Two kids, remember? You  _ promised. _ You promised we’re gonna have two kids after we found out we can have kids—one boy and one girl, and we’ll take them to Disneyland for the rides and games and all those Mickey Mouse crap. We only have  _ one _ so far, Steve, one beautiful little boy, and we haven’t taken him there, and he’s been waiting. He’s been waiting on that, and he’s been waiting for  _ you.” _

She whimpers and shakes her head, bowing her head down as she clasps both of her hands again two hold his. She sniffles and lifts her head, eyes looking back at his face—so peaceful, as if asleep, and he  _ is _ asleep. He’s asleep, has been for a long time, but that’s it. That’s it, he’s  _ just _ asleep. He  _ should _ only be asleep.

“We’re not finished yet, Steve,” she whispers. “You and me. We’re not finished yet, we’re not  _ done _ yet.” She pauses as she takes a shaky breath. “So you  _ have _ to wake up, Steve. You  _ have _ to wake up,  _ please.” _

She had been crying, sobbing and pleading for him to wake since the first day he had been brought in, and she’s  _ tired. _ She’s tired of the tears, of the whole waiting thing, of the heavy weight of uncertainty, of the  _ questions, _ but she won’t be giving up. She won’t be giving up, because she  _ vowed _ to never give up. So she’s holding on to  _ any _ little amount of faith and hope left, smiling her way through the heaviness and anxiety especially every time the kids would visit, especially  _ every time _ James would be here.

And  _ James... _ oh. Her precious baby boy.

She turns her head, not letting go of Steve’s hand, when she hears a soft knock on the door as it swings open. She sniffles, letting go of Steve’s hand to wipe off the tears on her face as she smiles and stands from her seat when she sees Tony coming in with her four-year-old son on his hip. James is rubbing his eyes, his hair mussed from his afternoon nap, and he blinks rapidly, as if his eyes are starting to focus on his mother, as his face lights up and he extends his arms over to Natasha who smiles widely and approaches the two.

“Jimmy just woke up from his nap, and he’s been looking for you,” Tony says, transferring the little boy to Natasha, who presses a soft kiss on James’ head as she holds him close, wrapping an arm tightly around him as the boy rests his head on her shoulder, his small arms wrapping around her neck. “Well, he’s been...looking for you and his Dad, but…” He trails off, sighing as he tilts his head to look over Natasha’s shoulder and at Steve’s unconscious self on the bed. “Well, there’s that.”

Natasha nods, pressing another soft kiss on James’ hair as she rubs a hand on his back soothingly. She gives Tony a small and grateful smile. “Thank you, Tony.” she says softly. She had been asking Tony and Pepper to look after James every time he would go on his nap, and Tony had been vigilantly staying with the little boy, even as he constantly protests against being separated from his mother in his nap times, especially now as he understands his father is quite  _ indisposed _ (an understatement), but he still complies.  _ Somehow,  _ Tony has his ways with James that makes him comply, and so for the past days, this has been part of the routine too—as Natasha stays with Steve, Tony would bring James down after he wakes up from his nap so he can be with his parents too.

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I’m  _ actually _ really good with kids,” he says with a shrug, and Natasha laughs lightly, sniffling as Tony looks up at her and gives her a small smile as he tucks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “How have you been holding up?”

_ Great? _ Not great.  _ Holding up? _ Not really. Missing Steve. Wallowing in guilt of not being there to protect him. Wanting to tear herself apart in two but  _ have _ to be strong and pull herself together for James. Very anxious of his healing and him being able to wake up. What is it?  _ How _ is she holding up?

“Well,” she answers quietly with a shrug, and Tony raises an eyebrow. “Just well.” she responds quietly.

Tony swallows down his throat as a moment of silence blanket over them, and he clears his throat as he gestures over at James in her arms. “He looked for you first when he woke up. Said he wanted lots of snuggles from Mommy.” he says, and Natasha sighs in relief for the change of subject, the topic diverting from  _ herself. _

“I can tell,” she responds softly, as James buries his face in the crook of her neck, his arms tightening around her as she chuckles, pressing another kiss on her son’s head, inhaling the scent of faint lemongrass in his hair. Her eyes flicker back to Tony as she sighs. “D’you get to talk to Helen?”

“I did, and the other doctors involved,” Tony responds almost too quickly with a nod. “They, uh...with the serum in his blood, it’s keeping him alive, and it’s what it’s mainly doing.” He pauses. “Any man would’ve been killed in that incident, Nat, but not him. Not Rogers.”

“Is it doing something to heal him faster?” she asks quietly, ignoring Tony’s last statement that stung her heart. She doesn’t  _ need _ to think about how bad the incident was that could’ve  _ killed _ her husband. Seeing him practically indisposed and unconscious on the bed with tubes and machines connected is already  _ bad _ enough. “The serum...can he...can he wake up anytime soon?” she asks again, with any bit of hope she has left, as Tony sighs and shakes his head.

“It’s still the same. He’s still under observation, especially his brain activity and the way his organs are healing again,” he responds, and Natasha sighs, hugging James closer to her as the boy lifts his head to look up at his father on the bed. “But it’s  _ healing, _ Nat. It’s doing something. The serum, it’s...it’s keeping him alive.” he says, and she just nods and looks away. Tony sighs and shakes his head. “Just hold on, alright? Just…he’s gonna wake up. He’s gonna wake up, he  _ has _ to. He has to.”

He  _ has _ to, because she needs him, because James needs him, the team needs him, and the people need him. He  _ has _ to wake up because he’s not yet done. He can’t go yet. He’s not finished. He’s just starting—starting with James, and his young marriage with Natasha, and the agents and superheroes he’s training under his wing. So,  _ no, _ he can’t just go yet. He can’t go yet, so he  _ has _ to wake up.

“I know.” she just responds quietly, and Tony nods, giving him a small smile before his eyes flicker back at Steve, then back at her. He lays a hand on her shoulder, giving it a light and reassuring squeeze.

“We’ll come by here later,” he tells her, and she nods again. “We’ll all have dinner here, alright? All of us, so you won’t have to leave. So he’ll…he’ll be with us too. Thursday nights as usual.”

_ Thursday nights _ —mandatory team nights where they will all be complete for dinner. Natasha sighs and nods. She supposes it’s better than having to wallow beside Steve. So she just nods. “Sounds good.” she says quietly, and Tony nods, ruffling James’ hair one last time before he turns to leave, closing the door quietly behind him as he leaves.

Natasha faces her attention back at her son, who pulls away slightly to look at her mother as he points over at Steve. “Mommy, can I go to Daddy?” he asks in a small voice, and Natasha smiles, brushing off some of his wavy hair off his face as she presses a small kiss on her forehead and she sighs, nodding.

“Of course, baby,” she responds softly. “Wanna tell Daddy his story for the day, hm?”

And James nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down as a wide smile spreads across his face, his blue eyes twinkling, and at that moment, Natasha smiles and chuckles, feeling her heart flutter as if in great relief that somehow, she can still see Steve smile through their son’s smile, that she can see his eyes twinkling through their son’s eyes. She presses a kiss on his cheek as she turns and walks over to the bed where Steve is. James is wiggling his feet almost impatiently, his arms stretched towards him as if he was gonna reach for him and pick him up, and while it breaks Natasha’s heart to see it, some illogical and emotional part of her  _ hopes _ he would open his eyes and he would extend his arms when he would see his son reaching for him, asking him to hold him and snuggle with him as he tells him his story for the day.

But it doesn’t happen, of course, and Natasha just lays their son down on the bed beside him while he doesn’t wake.

“Careful with Daddy, baby,” Natasha reminds her son gently, one hand lingering on James’ back as the four-year-old carefully crawls and inches himself closer to lie down beside his father, his head resting on his uninjured and good shoulder like how Natasha had taught him from the start. He looks up at Natasha with wide eyes, as she nods and gives him a small smile as she sits back down on the chair beside the bed, her hand on James’ leg.

“Can I talk to Daddy now, Mommy?” he asks in a small voice, and she nods, giving her a son a smile despite her eyes filling with tears and her heart clenching in her chest. As if her son needs  _ her _ permission to talk to his father like he’s unsure or he’s just being forced to. As if her sweet baby boy still needs to ask for  _ her _ permission to talk to his Daddy like he’s not close to him at all, or the man lying on the bed is a stranger and not his indisposed father.

It breaks her heart, and she wants to cry, rack Steve and force him to wake up so their son won’t feel as uncomfortable and scared and nervous as he is towards him, but she holds herself back, instead moving to grip tightly on his hand as she swallows down her throat and looks at her son’s expectant eyes, smiling as she nods.

“Of course, sweetie,” she responds quietly, her throat constricting as her voice breaks slightly. She forces herself to hold the smile as she swallows down her throat, nodding encouragingly at her son. “You can talk to Daddy and tell him a story.”

James smiles widely as he nods, and he proceeds to tell his father of his “story for the day”, something Natasha had come up with four days ago when the doctors had encouraged her to talk to Steve even while he is in a coma, and to encourage James to talk to him too, because they told them Steve could hear them, that he can understand, and while he couldn’t respond, he would for sure appreciate and love hearing their stories.

“That, of course, comes with the assumption that James knows about Captain Rogers’ situation,” one of the doctors told her warily, as if afraid to even say it. “O-of course, that’s a different topic altogether, but regardless...it would be good for his brain activity, when he listens to stories that he could probably process. And it would be good for  _ him _ too, because you’re both his family.”

Jumping to the assumption that James would  _ know _ and understand about his father’s situation had been a bold move altogether. Natasha, at that time, had been having a difficult time  _ accepting _ that her husband is badly hurt and in a coma, so what  _ more _ does it have to take for her to explain to their son that her father is badly hurt and would not be waking up anytime soon? How would she say it in a soft way, in such a way where James would understand but it won’t hurt him too much because it  _ shouldn’t? _ It shouldn’t, because he’s too young to experience something like this, and he doesn’t  _ need _ to get hurt because he’s gonna wake up? Because Steve’s gonna wake up and everything will be okay, and…

He  _ has _ to wake up, he  _ has _ to.

When James had asked her four days ago where Steve was, she had gathered courage to crouch down while he sat on a chair, brush off some of the hair off his face and look at her son’s—Steve’s—blue glassy eyes filled with worry and fret over not seeing his father the whole day when he was told he’d be back with his uncles. She took a deep breath, put on a shaky smile, even as tears filled her eyes, as she told him.

“Daddy was fighting off some bad guys, and even while he and your uncles won, he got really hurt,” she had started softly, as James’ eyes widened in sheer horror and surprise. “And you know how Daddy and I always tell you that whenever you get hurt, like when you scrape your knee or fall down, sometimes sleeping on the soft bed makes it feel better?” He nodded. “It’s just like that, sweetie. But this time, Daddy’s  _ really, _ really hurt he has to take  _ all _ his time to sleep, so when he wakes up, he’d feel a lot better.”

It’s  _ way _ understated,  _ way _ underwhelming, never quite encapsulating the situation nor Natasha’s immense feelings for the situation, and James knew it. He frowned slightly, tilting his head as he looked at his mother in confusion. “But you also said kisses make it feel better, and Daddy  _ really, _ really likes your kisses,” he said softly. “Why can’t he just wake up so he can get kisses from you?”

“He’ll still get kisses from Mommy,  _ lots _ and lots of ‘em even if he’s asleep,” she assured her son gently. “And he will also get lots of cuddles too, and maybe he can get kisses from you too so he can  _ really _ feel better.”

James’ face lit up at that. “If I give Daddy kisses, d’you think he’ll wake faster?” he asked, as if waking, for Steve, is a race and not an uncertainty or a gamble, as if it’s the surest thing in the world—and perhaps for her four-year-old, it  _ is _ the surest thing in the world; that his father will  _ always, _ always come and bounce back even if he’s really hurt.

“We can try,” she told her son lightly, giving him a smile. “And you know what else can make Daddy feel better?” James shook his head, as Natasha smiled widely. “Stories. Lots and lots of ‘em too. You can tell Daddy lots of stories about the things you do even when he’s asleep.”

“D’you think he’ll hear us?” he asked, and his smile widened as he perked up. “Maybe if I tell him lots and lots of stories, he’ll wake up!” And Natasha chuckled at that, because at some point, James  _ had _ woken Steve up one morning because he kept on babbling, when Steve just gathered the boy in his arms and peppered his face with kisses until the boy was reduced into a ball of giggles before they eventually fell back asleep.

Oh, how she  _ wishes _ it would happen—that  _ that _ will happen. But it’s been four straight days of James and her talking and telling him stories, and it’s to no avail, because he  _ hasn’t _ woken up. He hasn’t woken up  _ yet. _

And as James finishes his story about one of the games he and Morgan had played earlier during the morning until before he was put to nap, the little boy pauses sighs, as he looks back at his mother with a sad, defeated look, his eyes glassy and the corners of his mouth turned downwards. Natasha frowns slightly and furrows her eyebrows, lifting a hand to brush it gently through her son’s soft red hair as the little boy leans to his mother’s touch.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she asks softly, and James’ chin quivers as he looks down, his hands clasped in his lap as his thumbs fumble with each other.

James takes a moment before responding, as if struggling with words as he looks away from his mother. Natasha waits patiently before her little boy looks up at her and he sighs. “Mommy, I want the world to be soft.” he says softly, in a small and shy voice.

Natasha’s chin quivers, the corners of her mouth turning downward, her heart clenching and her chest weighing heavily down as tears slowly fill her eyes. She swallows down her throat as she leans to press a kiss on her son’s hair, taking the time to inhale that faint lemongrass scent on his hair, cherish the way her nose rubs with his smooth hair, and the way her son sighs quietly as he leans to her touch—any softness she could find despite a cruel world through her son. If the world were soft, a little bit  _ softer _ than what it already claims to be, they would be upstairs in their floor snuggling or playing. If the world were soft, then maybe she would understand why this is happening—why Steve is on the bed, what she’s feeling and what her son is feeling.

If the world were soft, then maybe she would understand,  _ period. _ Because she doesn’t. She doesn’t, at all, and she wants to.  _ God, _ she wants to.

“I know, baby,” she says, releasing a deep sigh. “I want it to be soft too.”

She wishes the world would be soft, that it would be gentler next time especially to Steve once he would get his chance again and wake up. But she knows the world, and even as she wishes it to be soft, she knows it won’t, because she’d seen harder, had experienced harder. But for now, she supposes, her little James was right—she wishes the world would at least be a little soft to Steve as they both wait for him to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, comments, kudos and prompts appreciated! Check out other works from Modern Love Series and Romanoff's Anatomy!


	49. Breath of Fresh Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 49\. Steve finds serenity and clarity in Natasha's presence.
> 
> "“I’m past the point of denying it, so yeah, she’s my best friend I’ve fallen in love with,” Steve says softly, and Tony grins. “‘Sides, you’re not the first one to shove that on my face.” he adds, and Tony chuckles, shaking his head."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for LOTS and lots of fluff!

“Cap, grip that any tighter, and I swear you’ll be paying for the whole set.”

Steve turns his head and releases a breath when he sees Tony standing beside him, regarding him with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk as he holds his own half-filled champagne glass himself with one hand, his other one tucked inside one of his pockets in his velvet slacks. Steve chuckles quietly and shakes his head, loosening his grip on the stem of  _ his _ champagne glass, turning in his body to rest the glass down on the bar counter where he and Tony are leaning back on.

“Not a champagne type of guy?” Tony asks, and Steve shakes his head, turning to look at the socializing and growing crowd inside the ballroom.

“I need something stronger,” he replies, and he looks at Tony who is looking at him. “Considering you’re asking me to do something I’d normally wouldn’t say yes to.” he adds, raising an eyebrow, as Tony rolls his lips in a huff, rolling his eyes teasingly as he lifts his glass to his mouth.

“You  _ wanted _ it,” Tony says, and Steve chuckles as he shakes his head. “Besides, these politicians like you better than they like me, even if  _ I _ give  _ them _ more money than you. So for publicity’s sake, Cap, indulge me for once.”

It’s not really true that he  _ wanted _ it, as much as how Tony said it. He had put up with it because Tony had practically  _ dragged _ him into doing the task, and a majority of the team had been go for it. Steve Rogers may be a full-time superhero—one to be considered as Captain America, a symbol of the country’s independence and patriotism, everybody’s savior and protector, but if there’s  _ one _ thing Steve never liked doing since officially becoming Captain America, it’s to communicate and talk to politicians and philanthropists.  _ Ever. _ And he knows it’s  _ probably _ as insane as it really sounds, but he gets highly nervous and anxious whenever he’s around at least  _ one _ of them.

What more if he’s in a room  _ full _ of them?

Steve purses his lips together, his eyes flickering over to the entire room, spotting Wanda, Rhodey and Sam speaking to a group of congressmen and congresswomen—as he had already been introduced to—Pepper, Clint and Bucky socializing with other extra guests (as he doesn’t recognize them, they could probably be their original guests’ plus-ones) and Thor, Sharon, Maria and Bruce huddled in a booth in the corner of the room with young philanthropists, laughing and drinking as they all seem to be having a good and pleasant evening.

And he  _ knows _ he  _ should _ be having a good and pleasant evening too, because this gala was, after all, made to benefit the Avengers, but he just couldn’t seem to shake the nerves off of his body no matter what he does.

“I read your speech, by the way, the ones you wrote on cue cards and had it printed out for submission in my lab, for some  _ odd _ reason,” he says, raising an eyebrow and Steve laughs. He  _ does _ have an explanation for that. “And I don’t think you’d have anything to worry about—I honestly  _ don’t _ see why you’re worried in the first place—”

“Ever heard about social anxiety, Tony?”

“Because you have  _ done _ this before, and you have  _ nothing _ to worry about because we all  _ got _ you,” Tony finishes, raising his eyebrows as he looks at Steve, who huffs out a chuckle and shakes his head, his eyes flickering back over to the crowd in front of them. His eyes move towards the wood polished podium on the center stage, in front of which is the logo of the Avengers. “Well,  _ almost _ all of us got you.” Tony pauses, and Steve looks back at him to see a wide grin on his face. “Are you  _ nervous _ because Red isn’t here to hold your hand or something?”

“N-no,” Steve responds, shaking his head quickly, as Tony begins laughing. “No,  _ no, _ that’s not—”

_ “Relax, _ Rogers, I’m just teasing. I know Romanoff did your speech for you,” he says, taking a sip from his champagne. “And I  _ also _ know that you guys are sneaking and making out among  _ many _ other things inside the Tower, as what JARVIS would inform of me every time I would ask.”

Steve scrunches his face as he raises an eyebrow at Tony, the corner of his lips quirking upward into a smirk. “You now spy on people making out among  _ many _ other things inside your Tower now, Tony? That’s a  _ new _ low even for you.” he says, and Tony furrows his eyebrows together and frowns slightly.

“No, now  _ don’t _ turn this on me, we were just talking about you and Romanoff—”

“What would Pepper say about  _ that?” _ Steve interrupts, shaking his head as he crosses his arms over his chest, looking at him as if disappointingly as Tony huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Now you  _ sound _ just like Romanoff. God, your  _ jokes _ are even the same now, that the next time any of you say it, it’s not gonna work anymore!” he exclaims, rolling his eyes, as Steve laughs, throwing his head back as he shakes his head. Tony looks over at him again, the corner of his lips quirking upward in a small smirk. “How long has it been?” he asks.

“Since what?” Steve asks, leaning back once again on the bar counter.

“You and Romanoff,” Tony responds. “I mean...you guys are  _ dating, _ right? Not just...you know, doing the do?”

“I-I mean...w-well,” Steve starts, furrowing his eyebrows slightly as he looks down at his feet, tucking both of his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I mean, I...I didn’t...I don’t know, I—”

“You’re not about to tell me you haven’t talked to her about it yet, right?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow, but Steve just looks at him sheepishly as Tony groans and rolls his eyes, laying his glass back down on the bar counter as he steps in front of Steve to face him. “You haven’t  _ asked _ her out on  _ one _ single date at all?” he demands.

_ “Well, _ do movies on either of our floors count as dates—”

“Not even  _ one _ date out on a restaurant for dinner or even  _ brunch, _ or just take her out to the park?” Tony asks, and Steve huffs and shakes his head, lifting both of his shoulders in a shrug as he starts stammering.

“I-I didn’t  _ think _ she’d be  _ that _ type of woman!” Steve defends. “I mean, she’s...she’s different, you know, and she’s…” he trails off as he sighs, looking away for a moment, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards into a smile that Tony has to refrain himself from rolling his eyes  _ again _ at seeing Steve so heartstruck just by the mere  _ thought _ and conversation about Natasha. “She’s unlike any other woman in the  _ most _ positive sense, and I’m not exactly the  _ best _ type of man who’s an expert in coming up with dates, considering I was practically seventy years late to my supposed last one.” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“See, same  _ humor _ on point,” Tony mumbles, and Steve shrugs, his smile widening. “Have you at least  _ tried _ asking her out for dinner once?”

“She prefers takeouts and staying indoors, so I think asking her  _ out _ is a bit pointless and offensive, Tony.”

“Have you given her flowers or chocolates?” Tony asks, and Steve shakes his head.

“I’ve given her chocolate cupcakes once, though, when she told me she likes those as desserts.” Steve answers, as if almost proudly as he perks up, and Tony rolls his eyes.  _ Too cheesy for his life. _

“Kissing her that doesn’t  _ lead _ to sex?” Tony tries, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean  _ sure, _ we make out—”

“That doesn’t  _ lead _ to sex?” Tony repeats, and Steve narrows his eyes at his friend.

“Yes, we have, and yes we  _ do,” _ he answers, and then he scrunches his nose. “That’s not even  _ supposed _ to be your business to know.”

“Unless you’re doing it under  _ my _ roof, it’s  _ my _ business, Rogers,” he says, and Steve rolls his eyes playfully as he shakes his head. “Well,  _ so _ doesn’t  _ that _ merit you to automatically  _ be  _ officially together and dating?”

“I mean, we haven’t talked about it yet, and I don’t wanna assume things between us that she doesn’t know,” Steve explains, and then he shrugs again. “But she’s first and foremost my partner and best friend for whatever happens, and whatever comes and happens between us.”

“A best friend you’ve fallen in  _ love _ with?” Tony prompts, and Steve chuckles, nodding as a faint blush form on his cheeks. And it’s honestly  _ ridiculous, _ but since Tony had had his eyes on the two of them since early last year, he figures he could let  _ this _ particular instance slide.  _ This _ instance alone. The rest of it he’s gonna have to call out and tease Steve about it (because though they  _ are _ close, he can still never really get the hang of having to tease Natasha without fearing for his life).

“I’m past the point of denying it, so  _ yeah, _ she’s my best friend I’ve fallen in love with,” Steve says softly, and Tony grins. “‘Sides, you’re not the first one to shove  _ that _ on my face.” he adds, and Tony chuckles, shaking his head.

“And what does  _ her _ not being here have anything to do with your nerves?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow as Steve sighs shakily, feeling his palms sweating inside his pockets and his heart thumping loudly inside his chest.

It has  _ everything _ to do with it, of course.

When Natasha had been called in for a whole-day solo mission earlier this morning, it was only then did his nerves started acting up. All while she had been preparing in her floor (where they had spent the night), she had done her best to juggle between suiting up and assuring and kissing him by telling him she was sorry she couldn’t attend with him, and that he’d do great in his speech. And while it had done its job partially, when she had left, uncertain of when she would come back during the evening, he practically felt trapped and unable to breathe and eat, as if needing just the  _ mere _ presence of her with him so he could get through the day and through the night. He feels like he doesn’t even  _ need _ for her to hold his hand (although he would  _ love _ that, of course), or for her to say anything at all tonight, but rather he feels like just  _ seeing _ her here, just feeling her presence here would’ve been enough to calm his nerves.

A breath of fresh air, that’s what Natasha is. Without her, he’d been unable to breathe, but  _ with _ her, Steve feels like he is invincible and untouchable.

“Can’t do anything without her, Tony,” he tells him softly, giving him a small smile. “It’s like I’ve become a codependent sap whenever I’m with her.”

Tony chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah. You’re just a normal man in love with an extraordinary woman. I should know,” he says, and Steve smiles widely. Tony gives him a small nod. “Now, you gonna make your woman proud even if she’s not here and deliver that speech she made like a champ?” he asks.

Steve laughs quietly and nods, taking a deep breath as his eyes scan the room once last time to look over at the people, as if expecting to see Natasha but she isn’t there. He looks back at Tony and gives him a nod, as both men turn and walk through the crowd and by the stage, where Tony starts speaking with the stage managers, and Steve starts pulling out the cue cards he has from the inside of his coat pocket. He stays put beside the stage even as Tony climbs the stage and takes his place at the podium to gather everyone’s attention, all while Steve just starts flipping through his cue cards, and pausing on one as he laughs softly, feeling his heart flutter as he starts shaking his head when he spots a small smiley face and a heart at the upper-right corner of his cards.

Only  _ two _ people had access to his cue cards, and one of them was  _ him. _ He sure as hell doesn’t remember doodling these things at all while scribbling his entire speech.

“And without further ado, please give a warm round of applause to Captain America himself, Captain Steve Rogers.” Tony introduces, and Steve looks up at him as he nods, and Steve climbs up the stage, looking back at the applauding attendees as he takes his place on the podium. His eyes adjust for a while with the spotlight, and he squints his eyes so he would be able to see everyone in the audience.

“Good evening, everybody, and thank you for being here with us tonight,” he starts, his voice quite shaky and his throat dry as he continues. “My name is Captain Steve Rogers, or as you may know me as Captain America, the leader of the Avengers, that of which is the reason why we are  _ all _ gathered here tonight.”

He looks down at his cue cards as he clears his throat lightly. “The Avengers Initiative, as you may have already known, started in the year 2012, when the momentous first Battle of New York happened; when humans first saw and confirmed the existence of aliens attacking New York City. The Avengers had been on the forefront of the battle, and while it had been messy—the entire battle  _ and _ especially the cleanup, as you may have been familiar with,” he says, and everybody laughs, because  _ of course, _ they knew, they’re politicians. “Nevertheless, it had been a start for the world to also get to know that even if these kinds of threats and things  _ do _ happen, they still have their first primary line of defense—us, the Avengers.”

He takes a deep breath, looking back at the audience. “And I’m not gonna lie, it hadn’t been an easy ride or a journey for all of us, starting with the simple fact that—at first glance—we’re really just a group of freaks. For a while, I was considered a man who was out of his time. And then I was partnered with a billionaire, playboy and your fellow philanthropist, a demigod who can wield thunder with a hammer, a couple of assassins and a scientist practically  _ filled _ with radiation. Over time, we were joined by another war veteran, a man who is  _ also _ out of time but had been lost for quite a while, a scientific experiment, and coronel,” he continues. “At the first few months and even  _ years, _ we only  _ had _ just been a group of freaks, who, several times along the line, had been tried and tested, both by outside and inside forces—both from the people we save and the people we work with. But I’m happy to say that after  _ years _ of trying and attempting to work through all of these tests and differences, we’re up here and staying strong, continuing to expand both the team and our individual capacities to be more of service for humanity.”

He flips his cue card, and he releases a breath, realizing he’s almost through with the short and simple speech he and Natasha had practiced several times. He opens his mouth to start speaking again, but he pauses, his eyes widening and focusing on  _ one _ woman by the entrance door, one in an elegant black strapless dress and red wavy hair, smiling and looking up at him. The corners of his mouth start quirking upwards, especially as her smile widens upon realizing he had spotted her, and that  _ she _ is here, and she is here for him, and she is nodding and smiling encouragingly for him to continue.

And suddenly, he feels like he no longer  _ needs _ the cue cards in his hands, as his heart starts to calmly beat once again, the rest of his body warming up in contrast to his cool and wracking nerves. He focuses on her eyes, and he focuses on her smile—his breath of fresh air, like he can finally breathe and feel invincible once again.

He holds her gaze, as he smiles and continues, “I have always believed in the fact that there is no greater honor than to serve the country. I had done so a majority of my life, and I’m happy to be able to do it again even in the modern times. Friends, and to everybody in this room, now as I stand here, I am also proud to add that there is also  _ no _ other higher reward than having the privilege to serve and protect the country alongside my fellow Avengers, those of which have not only become a group of freaks but rather a team and a family, all of us with the main objective of hoping to protect and serve the people right.” Natasha smiles widely and nods, and he smiles, his eyes flickering back to the rest of the audience. “And on behalf of the entire team, I would like to thank each and every one of you who came here, and who continue to support the Avengers. May this gala be a good reminder of teamwork and camaraderie, of how grateful my team is in serving alongside you in bringing the best for the people. Thank you very much.”

Everyone applauds, and he gathers his cue cards, his eyes flicking back to Natasha who is smiling widely and clapping loudly. He smiles and nods, turning to walk to the side of the stage as Tony takes his place, giving him a sly wink as he asks the audience to give another round of applause for Steve. He walks through the crowd by passing through the side until he reaches the entrance of the ballroom, where he sees her standing, her head turning to face him as he walks towards her, and her smile widens.

“Hey, soldier,” she greets softly, and he smiles, walking over to her. “Sorry I didn’t get to— _ oh!” _

She is cut off when Steve’s lips touch hers, one arm snaking around her waist to pull her closer to him. She smiles against his mouth, closing her eyes and resting her hands on his firm chest as she melts in his arms and kisses him back softly, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing gently on his cheek.

When he pulls away, she laughs breathily, resting her forehead against his. “I think you missed an  _ entire _ chunk of paragraph about humanity right there in your speech,” she teases, and he laughs softly, pressing another soft kiss on her lips. "And you _may_ have changed a _lot_ of the words in the last one too." she adds.

“I know, but I saw you,” he says, and she giggles lightly, rubbing their noses together. “I think it went rather well.”

“Better than I expected,” she responds, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips as she intertwines their fingers together. “So, you wanna get out of here or something?” she asks in a low voice, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Steve laughs softly, squeezing her hand as he just pulls her closer to his body. “Maybe later,” he says softly, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “How ‘bout we enjoy tonight on the dance floor, hm?” he asks, and Natasha pulls away slightly to look up at him funnily.

“People might see us.” she points out, raising an eyebrow. They haven't exactly been _seen_ together by the public eye, much less _all_ of their friends, and while a gala comprising of politicians and philanthropists with big names who play a critical role in supporting the Avengers may _not_ exactly be the best idea to expose of their newfound relationship, he couldn't really care less. So he just shrugs.

“I don’t care,” he replies gently, smiling softly down at her. “You’re  _ my _ girl, and I want people to  _ see _ that.”

_ My girl. _ Natasha blushes furiously at that, clearly getting caught off guard, as she buries her face in his chest and he laughs softly, pressing his lips on her hair as she shakes her head. “Such a  _ sap.” _ she murmurs against his chest, punching his chest lightly, but he just laughs, his arm tightening around her.

“Oh, and you  _ like _ it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts, prompts, prompts, please! Also check out Romanoff's Anatomy! :)


	50. Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 50\. Prompt: "It's the little things that make it work."
> 
> "She laughs as Wanda chuckles. “But he made me want to do it, you know? It’s like I thought...if me working on this would make him happy, then...then I’ll do it. I’ll do it because he makes me happy, and I wanna make him happy too.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been absent for quite a long while! Things have just been very busy lately and a lot of things have happened but its all good now! :) so this one's a prompt I saw from steveandnatlover, and I'm not sure if it's exactly how you imagined this prompt to be since I think this is just all senseless fluff HAHAHA but yes I hope you enjoy <333

“How do you do it?”

Natasha looks up from her book to meet Wanda’s eyes looking at her from across the couch in the communal room, her eyes narrowed almost in inspection at her. She blinks several times and puts the book down on her lap as she tilts her head slightly to the side and furrows her eyebrows in confusion at the girl.

“How do I do what?” she asks, and Wanda just looks at her in inspection.

“You and Steve,” she responds. “How do you make it work?”

Natasha frowns slightly in confusion.  _ How do you make it work? _ “Like...how do  _ we _ make—” Natasha says, but is interrupted by Wand who nods.

“Your relationship work, yeah,” she says. “I mean...I mean you guys are always so busy and stuff. Like you’re  _ superheroes _ for God’s sake, and you’re away from each other almost  _ all _ the time, but you guys still manage to make it work.” Wanda says, and Natasha raises an eyebrow and opens her mouth to respond. “And  _ please _ don’t tell me it’s the sex, nor even  _ think _ about it because I can read your mind, Nat.”

Natasha snorts and laughs loudly, shaking her head as she leans back in her seat. “Well,  _ now _ that you mentioned it,  _ you _ just put  _ that _ image in my head,” she says teasingly and Wanda groans, throwing her head back as she covers her ears with her hands and Natasha chuckles. “I just...I don’t know.” she answers softly, and Wanda tilts her head to the side. “I don’t know. I don’t...know. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Wanda says, shrugging, as Natasha eyes her suspiciously. “Hey, you told me to ask things whenever I get curious about stuff.”

“Yeah, but I meant culture and fighting techniques, Wanda, not  _ love.” _ Natasha says with a laugh and Wanda chuckles. 

“But you’re gonna tell me, right?” she asks, and Natasha sighs. “How you and Cap work it out?”

Natasha lets out a breath as she looks away, thinking.  _ How do they make it work? _ “I just…” she starts, and shakes her head as she furrows her eyebrows. “I don’t know. I don’t...we just  _ do, _ you know.”

Wanda frowns slightly. “Like  _ how?” _ she asks. “Is it...is it the grand things? The things you say and the things you do?” She pauses. “That’s  _ not _ sex?”

Natasha laughs. “Jeez, Wanda, we do  _ other _ things too.” she says, and Wanda chuckles.

“Like  _ what? _ How do you make it work?” she asks again.

And Natasha allows her mind to drift off away from the communal room where she is, where both she and Wanda are, where both she and Steve had spent their down time together, and where she and Steve first confessed their love for each other as well.  _ How do you make it work? _ It’s such a simple question, one she could easily answer as there are a  _ million _ things that had come into her mind the moment Wanda asked the question, but she seemed to have a difficult time sorting out  _ which _ thing to say first, much less  _ how _ to reduce all the things he had said, and all the things he had done into mere and simple words that she knows will be no match to how magnanimous his words and actions mean to her.

How do they make it work?

“It’s...it’s the way we wake up in the morning,” Natasha starts, her eyes flickering back to Wanda as she smiles. “When I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is him, and even in my smallest movements, he could feel it even when he sleeps. He would pull me closer to him and I’d...I’d feel safe. I’d feel safe and warm in his arms.”

Natasha thinks of the way his long eyelashes lightly touch his cheeks as he sleeps, the way his eyebrows furrow every time she would move and he would pull her close as if securing her and protecting her in his arms. “It’s the way I hear his heartbeat every time he does so too. I’d hear it beat faster every time I would move and he would pull me close, and each time I would settle back, it would calm down, and it would lull me back to sleep,” she continues softly, and she lets out a soft chuckle. “That usually happens on lazy weekends. So, usually we  _ never _ get anything done because we just sleep in most of the time.”

Wanda chuckles, and Natasha hums. “It’s also,  _ oddly, _ the way he cooks breakfast?” she says, chuckling. “He knows how I like my fried eggs, which is  _ weird, _ because I don’t even know how  _ I _ like my fried eggs cooked but every time he’d cook it, it’s always just  _ so _ perfect yet every time I would try to cook it myself it’s just...it’s not the same. It’s not…” Natasha trails off, squinting as she shakes her head, and Wanda laughs softly.

“Not Steve enough?” she asks, and Natasha chuckles as she nods.

“Not Steve enough, yeah,” Natasha repeats. “And whenever I ask him about it, he’s all just like…’It’s ‘cause I know you too well’, and it doesn’t even make sense.” She laughs softly. “How can you  _ know _ someone based on how they like their breakfast meals?”

“When you love someone enough, you’ll know.” Wanda says, winking, and Natasha blushes, letting out a soft laugh as she shakes her head. Wanda grins, musing quietly to herself about the faint blush forming on Natasha’s cheeks.  _ God, she’s in love with him and she doesn’t even know it. _ She clears her throat and smiles at Wanda.

“We make it a point to tell each other about our day too, so there’s that,” she says. “And for someone who’s never really into talking and sharing and trusting, it was difficult, but Steve was patient.”

She remembers his exact words during the first few weeks they started dating (and by dating, she means they’ve finally went past the “friends with benefits” stage and put a label on themselves and their feelings): “I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait until you think you’re ready to open your heart, like how I’ve waited for you to give yours to me. I’ll  _ always _ wait, Nat. I’ll always wait for you.” It meant a lot—hearing those words that he’ll wait, especially for someone who never thought would be worthy enough to be waited for and waited  _ on, _ especially for someone like  _ her _ who never thought someone would be willing enough to salvage some damaged goods which was how she saw herself.

Steve never saw her as such. Steve only saw her as...her.

“He waited, but I also made sure he wouldn’t wait in vain, so I worked on it too,” she says, and Wanda nods as she smiles. “And it was just...it was  _ difficult, _ for sure. And I can’t say Steve made it easy because he  _ really _ didn’t.” She laughs as Wanda chuckles. “But he made me  _ want _ to do it, you know? It’s like I thought...if me working on this would make him happy, then...then I’ll do it. I’ll do it because he makes me happy, and I wanna make him happy too.”

Wanda smiles widely at her. “You make him happy,” she tells her softly. “I can sense it everyday whenever you guys are together.” And she  _ really  _ does because since they’ve become together, they’ve been so different—like their auras have changed and it’s for the better. They feel lighter, happier and even at their down times in arguments and small fights, there’s still something, that  _ thing _ that always pulls them back together that Wanda never doubted they wouldn’t fix a hurdle in their relationship.

“Well, I surely hope so,” she says softly, her cheeks blushing furiously. “Else the cheesecakes and back massages would just be a waste if he doesn’t like it.”

Wanda laughs loudly. “Cheesecakes and backs massages? Am I supposed to know what those mean?” she asks, and Natasha chuckles.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, then,” Natasha says. “Whenever Steve gets all tense and upset all of a sudden? You know, like he’s in one of his  _ brooding _ moods?” Wanda laughs and nods. “Junior’s original cheesecake in Brooklyn. Said it reminds him of home back in the old days.”

“You go all the way to Brooklyn just to get him off his brooding moods?” Wanda asks, almost incredulously and Natasha hums and nods, smiling widely.

“He likes the motorcycle ride going there, and he  _ likes _ to brood in Brooklyn, only this time he’ll say it out loud so he actually releases it and doesn’t let it get pent up inside him,” Natasha explains. “Plus the cheesecake’s  _ also _ fantastically amazing, it really  _ does _ lift his spirits.”

“Is it  _ really _ the cheesecake or it’s  _ you?” _ Wanda asks, and Natasha chuckles, shaking her head fondly. “And the back massages?”

“When he gets tense,” Natasha says, shrugging. “And you can easily tell if he gets tense, so there’s that.”

“Sam once tried to give him a back massage, he only got madder.” Wanda points out, and Natasha laughs.

“Guess he only likes the ones I give.” she says with a wink, and Wanda grins.

“Well, he likes you so there’s that.” Wanda says, and Natasha chuckles and shakes his head.

“And I like him too,” she responds lightly as Wanda smiles, and Natasha looks away from the girl momentarily, a small smile still playing on her lips. “I  _ love _ him. And...I never  _ knew _ I could love someone like him, I never knew I would be capable of giving such love, but...well, here I am.” She smiles widely, and looks back at Wanda who smiles back at her. “And here he is, loving me the same, anyway.”

Natasha releases a breath and shakes her head, letting out a soft chuckle as she thinks back to Wanda’s original question.  _ How do they make it work? _ “I don’t know, really, about the  _ how _ in ‘how we make it work’. But I just…” she trails off, and looks away, leaning back in her seat. “You know for most of my life, I’ve always been so afraid of losing  _ my _ own life. I’ve always...always been big on trying to keep myself alive, looking after myself, being so  _ afraid _ of dying and losing myself that I never thought I could one day be afraid to lose someone else’s. But I met Steve and I just...I got  _ so _ afraid at first that it was  _ horrifying, _ but then that’s...that’s when I also thought that I don’t...I don’t wanna lose him.” She smiles and looks back at Wanda. “I’d  _ never _ want to lose him and live without him. And I guess I think about that every time that I just...I love him, and I can’t lose him, and then I go from there.”

And Wanda can see it—the love Natasha has as she talks about him, as she talks about the things Steve does and the things  _ she _ does for Steve too. She can sense it too, all around her—the warmth and lightness, the giddiness and love that’s radiating off of Natasha as they talk about her relationship with Steve. And she begins to muse that  _ this _ one’s for sure is the one that will  _ last, _ the one that will make great for the books, one that would never end even in the afterlife.

Wanda opens her mouth to say something, but the elevator door to the communal floor opens, and Steve, Bucky and Sam come in. Wanda watches Steve’s face light up when his eyes land on Natasha, and she watches as Natasha smiles widely, perking in her seat when she sees Steve, even as Bucky and Sam are waving at both girls as greetings. She chuckles inwardly and shakes her head slightly, especially when the other two men notice how Natasha had never tore her eyes away from Steve.

“They’re getting all  _ googly _ eyes again,” Sam says, walking over to the communal couch and flopping down on the couch adjacent to Wanda’s and the one Natasha—and now  _ Steve,  _ too—are occupying. Bucky follows suit beside him. “Go up to your floor or something.”

“It’s like we’re  _ invisible,  _ it’s ridiculous,” Bucky mutters teasingly, pouting. “I miss the days when Steve was the smaller punk and I got all the ladies’ attention.”

Steve chuckles as he sits beside Natasha, pressing a kiss on the side of her head as she hums and scoots herself over to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “You can grab all the ladies’ attention all you want, Buck,” Steve says. “I got one’s attention, anyway, and it’s all I’d ever want.”

“Okay, now  _ that’s _ too sappy for my life,” Bucky says, as Wanda laughs and Sam snorts and rolls his eyes fondly. Natasha giggles and smacks his chest lightly, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she wraps an arm around his torso. “‘Kay, Wilson, Maximoff, how ‘bout  _ we _ give them the room instead, hm?”

“Right back at ya,” Sam agrees, getting up after Bucky as Wanda chuckles and follows, giving Natasha a wink as she follows the two men out of the communal room. “No sex on the couch!”

“Wilson, your  _ mouth!” _ Bucky exclaims, and Steve and Natasha laugh, turning their heads to look back at their friends who are waiting and standing in front of the elevator. Wanda smiles widely at the both of them before eventually disappearing as the doors close.

Natasha lifts her head to look up at Steve who smiles, leaning in to give her a soft kiss on the lips. Natasha smiles against his mouth, resting her hand on his cheek as she kisses him back. “I’ve missed you.” he murmurs as he pulls away and Natasha chuckles, shaking her head.

“It was just a few hours, Steve, you, James and Sam wanted to grab steak for a  _ boys’ _ lunch out,” Natasha teases, and Steve chuckles, shaking his head as he gives her another chaste kiss on her lips. “But I’ve missed you too.” She scrunches her nose and chuckles. “And I don’t  _ like  _ it.”

Steve laughs softly. “What? Don’t like being sappy with me?” he asks, and Natasha pouts as she shakes her head.

“You’ve turned me into a sap,” she says, and Steve laughs loudly—this  _ bastard, _ but she smiles, nonetheless, remembering the words she told Wanda. “But I guess it’s alright.”

Steve hums. “It’s alright, huh?” he asks, and Natasha nods.

“Because I love you,” she says softly, and Steve smiles widely. “And  _ that’s _ the one I like very much.”

Steve chuckles softly, kissing her softly on the lips, then on the tip of her nose as he pulls her close to him. “I love you too, Nat,” he says softly,  _ giddily _ almost. “And  _ you’re _ the one I like very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls pretty pls give me fluffy prompts! HEHE and leave kudos and comments too!


	51. Can I Have This Dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 51\. Steve and Natasha from some of their friends' perspective (pt. 1).
> 
> "Sharon hums, the corner of her lips tugging upward slightly in a small smile as she releases a breath. “He is,” he says softly. “A man to ask a woman who’s special to him for a dance—he’s that type of man.” She pauses, swallowing down her throat. “My Aunt Peggy used to tell me that.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been posting less frequently because of life so im sorry for the delays :( i have oneshots half-finished i promise but i never seem to have the time to really fully finish them and post them. hope u give me more time and patience!! also, enjoy for the fluff!

“They haven't moved from there at all, you know.”

Sharon turns her head to the source of the voice, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards as she watches Wanda approach her, a smile on the younger woman’s face as she hands Sharon a glass of drink in her hand, which Sharon takes happily, taking a sip from it, and immediately tasting the familiar taste of margarita. “I didn’t know you know what my favorite drink is.” she says lightly, raising an eyebrow as Wanda laughs softly, leaning back on the tall cocktail table beside Sharon as she takes a sip from her own drink.

“I didn’t, I just hoped for the best that I got it right without going through your head much,” she responds, and Sharon laughs softly, her eyes flickering back to the party as Wanda hums, tilting her chin over at them. “See what I mean?” she asks, and Sharon smirks.

She does. She  _ sees _ what Wanda means, and she’s sure she’s got it right.

“D’you think someone’s gotta tell ‘em this party’s meant for drinks and dances and not really just ogling each other on the couch?” Sharon asks teasingly, and Wanda laughs loudly. “I mean look at them, they’re  _ literally _ in their own little world.” she adds lightly, and Wanda hums as she nods.

“They really are,” she responds softly, a smile playing on her lips as she watches them,  _ them _ —Steve and Natasha, sitting closely beside each other on the corner couch at the edge of the ballroom, their faces merely inches away from each other as smiles light up their faces even as they talk quietly, as if the entire room didn’t matter and it’s just  _ them, _ as if the rest of the sound inside the room is just noise, and the only sounds that matter are the sounds of their voices and laughters as they converse privately. “They’ve been in there since the  _ real _ party started.” Wanda says, and Sharon hums as she nods.

“I’m really not surprised, you know,” Sharon says, looking over at Wanda who smiles widely as she looks back at Sharon. “And I’m sure you  _ aren’t, _ either.” she adds with a raised eyebrow.

“Please, the tension is  _ everywhere _ it’s really hard to miss,” Wanda says, grinning widely. “But I can’t confirm. I did promise to them I wouldn’t read their minds anytime soon until I ask for their permission to do so.”

“But can’t you at least  _ hear _ it without you invading their minds?” Sharon asks, still absolutely fascinated by the younger woman’s powers and curious about what else she can possibly do with her abilities. She knew from her files and by the past mission reports she’s read that she’s a telekinetic and a telepathic, a sorceress who can warp reality and create mind projections.

“Oh, I’ve learned to shut some things off,” Wanda responds softly, smiling up at Sharon. “Unnecessary noises, especially those I wouldn’t wanna hear. In their case, it’s usually their thoughts about how they find the other so hot and...well, you know the other stuff.” She blushes and Sharon laughs loudly, shaking her head. “But I figured that’s not really enough since literally everyone thinks they’re hot.”

“That  _ is _ true. Nat most especially.” Sharon says, nodding as her eyes flicker back over to Natasha who throws her head back as she laughs at something Steve says, and she watches as Steve’s smile widens, his bright blue eyes sparkling as he watches Natasha laugh and smile, shaking her head as she says something in response, and Steve just looking at her—as if mesmerized and unable to keep his eyes away from her. He laughs too, and even from afar, Sharon can see the blush creeping on his cheeks as he ducks his head and laughs, shaking his head as he says something, making Natasha laugh again as he looks up to look at her face again, the same gentle smile on his face, with that matching look of awe and wonder.

It’s not hard to miss—the way he looks at her, and the way she looks at him too.

If Sharon were an outsider, she would think that the gorgeous redheaded woman in a simple yet beautiful pink gown and the handsome blonde man in a three-piece navy blue suit are a couple. If she were not a close friend of the two, she would definitely bet that Captain America and Black Widow are a couple, an  _ item, _ both lost in their own world in a loud booming party full of people and loud music. But she figures even as she  _ is _ a close friend of the two, most especially closer to Natasha, even as she  _ knows _ by her knowledge and by Natasha’s sworn words that she and Steve are not a couple and that neither of them harbor romantic feelings for each other (it’s what she said as of two days ago when they went out for lunch), she’s convinced to believe otherwise. Because judging by the way he looks at her, the way she smiles at him, the way the tips of their fingers  _ almost  _ touch and the way they unconsciously get lost in each other’s eyes when they talk, she is wholeheartedly convinced that these two aren’t “just friends” or “are not harboring romantic feelings for each other” or “are not in love”.

They are most, certainly  _ definitely _ in love with each other, and Sharon is all  _ here _ for it.

“But they’ve never danced,” Wanda says softly, snapping Sharon out of her thoughts, as she looks back at the younger woman who is frowning slightly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she watches the two continue to talk. “I think that’s just what I’m waiting for—for them to dance, and I’ll finally be convinced that the way they look and smile at each other are different from the way they look and smile at the others.” she says, and Sharon chuckles, tilting her head to the side.

“You seem to really  _ want _ them to dance in the middle of the room together.” Sharon comments, and Wanda smiles sheepishly at them.

“I think they’d look like a pretty good pair, especially as Nat is a dancer. She could teach him some moves and all.” she says, and Sharon chuckles softly.

“If it makes you feel better, he hasn’t asked  _ anyone _ to dance with him yet.” she chirps, and Wanda laughs.

“They’ve never gotten the chance to be away from each other,” Wanda points out, and Sharon laughs. Wanda looks back at the two, and after a few moments, her smile widens, her eyes sparkling as if she’s thought of something, or as if she’s discovered something. “When they dance up there, I think that’s when we’ll all know they’re meant for each other.”

“Why’d you say so?” she asks, and Wanda looks back at her as she gives her a gentle smile, her eyes still sparkling and bright.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m always just used to seeing it, you know—couples dancing with each other, or the man asking the woman he loves for a dance,” Wanda says, smiling widely. “I remember what my Mama used to tell me when I was a child: that the best gift you can give to the person that you love is a dance. I can see that going for them.” She looks back at the two, as Sharon turns her head to look back at them too. “Besides, I’d like to think Steve’s one to ask a woman to dance, especially if she’s special to him.”

Sharon hums, the corner of her lips tugging upward slightly in a small smile as she releases a breath. “He is,” he says softly. “A man to ask a woman who’s special to him for a dance—he’s that type of man.” She pauses, swallowing down her throat. “My Aunt Peggy used to tell me that.”

Wanda looks back at Sharon who sighs and looks at Wanda, giving her a small smile. “She used to tell me stories about Captain America when I was a kid, and even as I grew up and until before her death, she would tell me stories about him especially when she’s lucid,” she starts softly, and Wanda nods, smiling up at Sharon encouragingly as Sharon chuckles softly and shakes her head. “I grew up hearing stories about him growing up, and she would especially like to tell me stories about their days when they were younger.” She pauses, chuckling softly. “Or at least when my Aunt Peggy was younger and Steve wasn’t frozen in the ice yet.”

Wanda chuckles, as Sharon smiles. “But the most that stood out for me was her story of how Steve’s last words to her was him asking her out for a dance and her saying yes to him,” she says softly. “And then he went under the ice, and they never  _ did _ get to go to that dance.” She looks back at the two, her eyes focusing mostly on Steve as she sighs. “Now you mentioned it, I can’t help but think if  _ that’s _ why he hadn’t asked her to dance yet.”

She doesn’t know, of course, because it’s not like she ever got the chance to ask Steve about all of this, especially as her Aunt Peggy had died only a few months ago, and for her, opening the subject of her favorite aunt seemed to be painful, still, especially if it’s with someone she shared a past with. She can only perhaps imagine the pain it had caused him, Peggy’s death, the way it might have impacted him by the mere fact that a very vital piece of his past has now passed.

Though she’d never seen the fullness of his grief, she has a hunch that Natasha had helped him process and get through the grief of losing her, and for that, Sharon is sincerely grateful and amazed at.

And the corner of Wanda’s mouth quirks up, her face lighting up as she looks back at both Steve and Natasha, and like Sharon, she focuses her eyes on Steve. “You’re right,” she says, and Sharon raises an eyebrow at the younger woman. “You’re  _ absolutely _ right.” she repeats, her grin widening as she puts her drink down and crosses her arms over her chest.

She  _ is, _ in fact, correct. Because on the far end corner of the room, on the corner couch, as Steve watches Natasha smile and laugh, his heart skipping a beat and fluttering all at once at just  _ watching _ her smile and hearing her voice and laughter, even as every inch of him wants to take her in his arms and hold her close to him so he can continue to marvel at her and her beauty, there’s still  _ one _ teeny tiny thing creeping up inside his head: he wants to ask her to dance with him but he can’t. He  _ can’t, _ and even if he wants to, for the life of him, he absolutely  _ can’t, _ crippled by the fear of having to relive the memory of a lost dance all over again, and the fear of the past repeating once again. He can’t, because if he says those five words in a question to her, he’s afraid all he might ever think about is Peggy and their missed dance, and it’s unfair if he does because he wants to think of  _ her— _ of Natasha, and the love he feels for her—

The  _ love _ that he feels for her. And in that moment that same moment that he realized it, that he finally  _ allowed _ himself to fully feel it, it’s also when Wanda had felt it even from across the room. And it amuses her, how the man had managed to swing from mere apprehension to fear to immediate acceptance and to love,  _ love _ that had been there all along, hiding beneath layers of apprehension and fear, love that had been there along with his feelings of awe, wonder and amazement for the beautiful woman in front of him—the beautiful woman who had helped him let go of his past, because apparently  _ she _ would be his future.

Even Wanda had to admit—that bit is kinda too cheesy for her liking as well. And here she thought she was a lover of the romantic, but she figures she can make an exception for the two of them.

Wanda nudges Sharon by the elbow, and Sharon turns her head, her eyes landing on Steve standing and extending his hand for Natasha to take as he leads her to the dance floor, just in time when the music started to go slow and the lights in the room begin to dim. Sharon laughs softly and shakes her head, unable to keep the smile away from her face at seeing her two friends hold each other, swaying softly with the music as Steve pulls Natasha close, touching his forehead with hers as she giggles and he closes his eyes, as if contented and in  _ love. _

“You knew,” Sharon says, smiling as she keeps her eyes on her two friends. “You knew this was gonna happen.”

Wanda chuckles lightly. “It happened too fast it was hard to keep up with the aura of his thoughts,” she responds lightly with a shrug. “But you don’t have to be like me to know. You’d have to be  _ blind _ to think this was never gonna happen at all.” she adds, and Sharon hums, raising an eyebrow in agreement as she watches her two friends dance fondly in the middle of the dance floor.

And in that dance floor, Natasha hums as she closes her eyes, resting her head on his chest as Steve holds her close by her waist, his arm tightening around her as he rests his cheek on top of her head, closing his eyes as he lets the music take over them and lead them for the rest of the night. He allows a small smile on his mouth, especially as he holds the woman he loves close to him. He allows the music to sway them and swing them, finally allowing himself the joy of having to dance with a woman specially close to him, a woman he plans to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s a long way to go from here, he figures, but he also thinks this dance is a good way for him to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> promps, comments and kudos! mwa mwa


	52. Love Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 52\. Steve and Natasha from some of their friends' perspective (pt. 2).
> 
> "“You say that like you expect them to hurt the kids, babe,” Clint chides gently, and Laura hums, smiling as she inches herself closer to her husband, her eyes trained on the five approaching the tree near the farmhouse. “They love the kids, the same way the kids love them.” he adds, and Laura smiles widely. “I know, I know,” Laura says softly with a chuckle. “It’s just they might get freaked out.""

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Clint turns his head and smiles when Laura approaches him, flopping down on the couch beside her husband as Clint wraps an arm around her, pressing a kiss on the side of his head. “Letting our kids be  _ their _ practice babies?” she asks, resting her head on Clint’s shoulder as the archer lets out a chuckle.

He turns back and looks over at the window overseeing their backyard, where he spots Steve lifting Lila as the girl climbs to her uncle’s back, and Natasha laughing as she holds baby Nathan in her arms, rubbing his small back as Cooper tugs Steve’s shirt, telling him something before Steve smiles widely as he looks at Natasha who smiles back at him. Clint grins widely, especially when Lila tugs on Steve’s hair, as if directing him where to go, as he settles his hands on her legs to keep the girl steady, and he goes to the direction where Lila is pointing—to a tree nearby the farmhouse, the kids’ favorite spot. Clint watches as his eldest son speeds off to the spot, and Steve follows with Lila while Natasha presses her lips on an overly-excited ten-month-old baby Nathan as she follows closely behind Steve, who makes sure to look back and wait for her to catch up before they can proceed to the tree.

It’s pathetically adorable, how these two can make  _ their _ kids look as if they’re _their_ own, how these three kids are so enamored by their Auntie Nat and Uncle Steve, and how the two look so fitting just hanging out and taking care of the kids—as if they  _ are _ their own, as if they’d always been their own.

“You say that like you expect them to hurt the kids, babe,” Clint chides gently, and Laura hums, smiling as she inches herself closer to her husband, her eyes trained on the five approaching the tree near the farmhouse. “They love the kids, the same way the kids love them.” he adds, and Laura smiles widely.

“I know, I know,” Laura says softly with a chuckle. “It’s just they might get freaked out. These are  _ three _ kids they’re practicing on when insofar they’re only about to get  _ one _ in a few months’ time.”

“Or they could have twins,” Clint says with a shrug, watching as Steve lifts Lila from his shoulders to put her down so she can sit under the tree, gesturing for her Auntie Nat and Nathan to sit on the grass beside her, as Cooper settles on her other side. Natasha adjusts the baby on her hip, lowering herself as the skirt of her summer dress fanning around her as she settles baby Nathan on her lap, and Steve sits beside Cooper and near Natasha, so the five are seated in a circle under the tree shade. “I mean they’re capable of it, or at least their super serums are capable of it, apparently.”

“Steve’s super serum allowed Natasha to get pregnant,” Laura corrects gently, laughing softly as she shakes her head. “Let’s not get too excited about the rest of what  _ else _ his super soldier serum can do to her body.”

Clint makes a gagging noise as he shakes his head and shudders in disgust, and Laura laughs, lifting her head and slapping her husband’s chest lightly and teasingly. “I don’t wanna hear what else  _ he _ does to Tasha—she’s like my sister!” Clint exclaims in bewilderment, pulling away slightly from Laura who laughs and shakes her head. “I can’t  _ accept _ hearing about the possible things Steve’s super serum is doing to  _ her _ body!”

“I think the first time is to accept the fact that he’s already  _ done _ things to her body which,  _ first, _ she evidently likes,” Laura says, and Clint scoffs and rolls his eyes as he shakes his head. “And to also accept that  _ that _ thing that he had done to her is how you ended up knowing about them in the first place, babe.” She winks, and Clint chuckles softly, shaking his head fondly as he looks back at Laura. “Which is a very terrible way to learn of their relationship, I may add, both for you and them.” she adds.

Clint laughs, remembering  _ that _ time he did accidentally pick Natasha’s lock open when he had been looking for her and she wasn’t responding, and instead of finding  _ her _ alone in her room doing God-knows-what-assassins-usually-do, she’s apparently  _ not _ alone inside the room and doing  _ not _ assassin stuff—but rather  _ doing _ Captain America—which is  _ not _ an assassin thing to do, really. “God, that was embarrassing.” he mumbles, yet the corner of his mouth quirks up as he recalls how furiously  _ red _ with embarrassment Steve was when Clint saw them, and how amused Natasha was at what had happened (and in her  _ own _ words four years back during  _ that _ fateful day it happened—“Guess that’s one less job done in letting other people know”).

“And that  _ thing _ he’s doing had apparently led to our kids having a baby cousin on the way,” Laura continues softly, smiling as she turns her head to look at the sight outside—where Steve apparently  _ now _ has a hold of baby Nathan as Lila and Cooper run around and play near the tree. Steve watches the kids as he laughs and says something, holding baby Nathan closer to him as the baby settles back on his uncle’s chest, while Natasha smiles widely, watching Steve holding Nathan close to him, as her one hand settles on her small—yet obviously there—five-month-old baby bump.

They’re gonna be parents, these two, and he’s known it for months since they announced it, half-expected the possibility of it since they got married a year ago, but he still can’t believe it’s actually coming true. He  _ almost _ can’t believe it, still, even if Natasha is five months pregnant with their first child.

“It’s one of the few good things that could come out of the things he’s doing to her,” Clint relents with a small shrug, as Laura grins triumphantly and hums as she nods, not tearing her eyes away from the two. “I remember her telling me back then, when I first brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D., just a little before she defected, when I asked her what she did in the Red Room, and what they’d done to her. She could’ve told me a million things—how they gave her a serum that enhanced her abilities and senses, how it can make her age slowly and heal faster—but the first thing she told me was that the Red Room did something to her that render her unable to have kids and be a mother.” he says solemnly. “She said it’s one of the many things she can never forget, one of those she can never forgive them for—sterilizing her, making her think she can never be a mother.”

Laura remembers too, because she had been there when Natasha had confessed about that bit too  _ after _ she defected, when Clint had brought her to meet Laura, officially integrating  _ her _ to the Barton family. She nods, her eyes focusing on Natasha as she watches the redhead look down at her bump, her smile widening as she smooths her hand over it, as if soothing it, protecting it. “She’s always wanted to be a mom,” Laura says, and Clint nods, not tearing his eyes away from the couple with baby Nathan who is now smiling widely and giggling as Steve tickles the baby’s stomach lightly, and he begins squirming and wiggling in his arms. “She already  _ was, _ right? Way before, before she graduated from the Red Room?”

Clint nods. “Rose,” he responds quietly. “She told you about that bit too?” Laura nods.

“She did. Shortly after Cooper was born, and I offered that she carry the baby but she said she can’t, and she told me,” she tells him, and she squints her eyes slightly as she shakes her head. “I guess it’s why she’s so devastated about it—about the whole ‘not being able to be a Mom’ thing the Red Room did to her, ‘cause she couldn’t get a second chance right after what happened to her baby back then, and all she can ever be is a mother to a dead baby who’d been gone  _ years _ before we even met her.”

Laura remembers feeling her heart breaking as she hears Natasha tell the story of her child—of the twenty-two seconds that she was able to hold her before she felt the baby’s chest stop moving, of her having to mourn over the body of her child and having to bury her on an unmarked grave because absolutely  _ nobody _ can ever know she had a child with a dead man whom she once loved. She remembers how broken she had been even after telling the story, her red-rimmed eyes and moist cheeks, her breaking voice and shaky breaths, and the vehemence in her voice when she told Laura how she  _ hated _ the Red Room for many things, but them stopping her from being a mother is one of the main ones.

_ I had a baby, Laura, _ she remembered Natasha telling her that.  _ For a few seconds right there, I was someone else’s mom, _ she said—and it was honest to God, the  _ most _ heartbreaking thing she had ever heard Natasha tell her to this day, after being close friends and family with her for  _ years. _

_ You’re still someone’s Mom, Nat, _ she remembered herself telling Natasha.  _ She’s just not here anymore. _

And now, she’s about to be someone  _ else’s _ Mom, and Laura likes to believe that this time, the baby will stay, the baby will live and survive, and she won’t spend another minute thinking and doubting if she ever  _ was _ a Mom after giving birth to a now-dead baby  _ years _ and years back. If she ever  _ was _ scared finding out she was gonna be someone else’s mother after what happened before, Laura wouldn’t know, not if she sees the bright glow on Natasha’s face, especially as she smiles brightly when Steve meets her eyes, looking down as well at her baby bump—where  _ his _ baby is—and smiling widely as he rests his hand on top of hers.

“Steve is excited, though, and I know Nat’s excited, but he seems  _ more _ excited than she is which is definitely saying something,” Laura says, and Clint hums, letting out a quiet chuckle as he shakes his head fondly. “He knew, right? I mean, before they got married, he knew there was a possibility they wouldn’t have kids?”

Clint nods in confirmation. “But you know how Rogers is, he didn’t care,” he says, and then he shrugs. “Or at least he  _ claimed _ he didn’t care, but I believed him. All he ever wanted was to be with Nat and make her happy, spend the rest of his life with him and stuff—it’s what he said when I gave him a shovel talk.” He smirks. “I asked him if he knew Nat couldn’t have kids, so if he’s looking for that she can’t be that woman for him.” He lets out a huffed chuckle. “He blushed so hard, immediately told me he didn’t just want Natasha for the sex, or for her ability to have kids, he wanted her ‘cause he loved her— _ loves _ her, still. As for the kids, he just said they’ll figure something out should she’d want ‘em.”

“And apparently, figuring something out just meant  _ trying harder,” _ Laura says, and Clint laughs as he nods, and Laura looks back outside, watching as Steve gets up from the grass, helping Natasha up as he calls for the two kids, probably calling for them so they could go back inside the house already. “They’ll be great parents, I think. They’re already as good as Uncle Steve and Auntie Nat, what more once they become Mom and Dad?”

“Their kid’s gonna be lucky to have them,” Clint agrees softly as he nods and smiles. “I could just imagine how they’d be—lovestruck and just hovering over their baby once it gets here, especially Steve who probably wouldn’t dare leave Nat and his baby’s side.”

Laura chuckles, watching as Natasha takes both Lila and Cooper’s hands as they begin to walk towards the house while Steve follows behind as he carries baby Nathan on his hip. “Guess the Avengers has to reelect its new leader for the meantime, find replacements for  _ both _ Captain America and the Black Widow.” Laura says, and Clint hums.

“We’ll find ‘em, what’s important is that  _ these _ two will be good parents to their kid,” Clint says gently, and Laura smiles as she looks back at her husband. “Which I think they  _ will _ do, and we’ll be fine.”

Steve and Natasha enter in with the kids, and Natasha smiles as she lets the kids’ hands go, running over towards Laura who catches the both of them in her arms, pressing kisses in both Lila’s and Cooper’s cheeks before they run over to Clint who does the same. Nathan squeals and gurgles, reaching over towards his parents, and Clint chuckles as he gets up from the couch and takes Nathan from Steve’s arms, pressing a kiss on the baby’s cheek as he looks at his two friends, a wide smile on his face.

“Hope the kids didn’t wear you out enough to think twice about keeping your baby.” Clint teases, and Natasha gives him a scowl, her hand resting on her bump as Steve chuckles, wrapping an arm around Natasha’s waist to pull her close and press a kiss on the side of her head.

“The kids were wonderful as usual,” Steve says, rubbing Natasha’s back as he absentmindedly rests his hand on top of hers, giving it a light squeeze as Natasha’s scowl fades, and she looks up at her husband, giving him a smile. Clint has to hide his chuckle at how swift her mood changes—pregnancy hormones, he supposes, and he’d  _ hate _ to be on the other end of a pregnant Black Widow’s hormonal episode. “But if there’s one thing to learn from it’s that we  _ definitely _ have to take it easy, and I think having one is already a huge blessing enough considering plenty of factors.” he says softly, his smile widening as he looks back at Natasha to press another kiss on her cheek and she hums.

“Having three is a handful, and I’ve  _ no _ idea how you do it.” Natasha says, her eyes flickering over to Laura who chuckles as she gets up from the bed, and the two kids run back upstairs. Steve leads Natasha to the armchair adjacent the couch as she nods and flops down there, letting out a relieved sigh, especially when Steve fixes and piles the throw pillows that Natasha can lean back to as she hums contentedly, smiling widely and gratefully at her husband as Steve smiles and presses a light kiss on her forehead before he sits down on the couch near her.

“D’you mind if Nat lifts her feet?” Steve asks, looking up at both Clint and Laura who just continue to watch them amusedly, yet somehow endearingly, with how everything is unfolding in front of them. They both shake their head.

“Go ahead. Nat’s feet must be already sore from standing for quite some time,” Laura says, and both Steve and Natasha smile gratefully up at them as Natasha lifts her feet to Steve’s lap, and he massages her feet as she hums and smiles at her husband. “It’s quite an irritating weather to be pregnant too, with the summertime heat outside, it worsens the swelling.” she adds, and Natasha frowns slightly.

“That’s a thing?” she asks, furrowing her eyebrows slightly as Laura nods. “So no more walks in the park during summer for me?” she asks, pouting slightly.

“I think we can still do walks, sweetheart, only not for a long period of time,” Steve says gently, and he looks back up at Laura. “That’s correct, right?” he asks, almost worriedly, and Laura chuckles and nods.

“Short walks are good,  _ much _ needed so you can get both your exercise and some sun,” she responds, and Steve looks back at Natasha and smiles, as Natasha lets out a soft and small ‘yay’ before finally settling back on the cushions, closing her eyes, a small and relaxed smile on her face as Steve just watches her with a small smile on his face, continuing to massage her swollen feet and ankles. Laura chuckles, shaking her head fondly. “I’ll just get dinner started. Babe, you get the kids ready, please.”

“I’ll help dinner in a while.” Steve says, and Laura hums, smiling and nodding as she turns, pausing just when her back is turned away from the Rogers couple.

“Wish you learned chivalric husband-slash-father-to-be tips from Steve.” Laura murmurs teasingly, smirking when Clint scoffs quietly and scowls as she walks over to the kitchen and Clint follows after her upstairs, but both Steve and Natasha are oblivious to the Bartons as they get lost in each other’s worlds—Steve taking care of his beautiful and pregnant wife who’s about to be a mother, and Natasha relishing in the care she’s receiving from her loving husband who is also the father of her baby, whom they will see in four months’ time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompts and comments super appreciated! also, check out my other works and happy valentine's day! hope this fluff makes you feel our favorite rogers couple's love!


	53. Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 53\. Steve and Natasha from others' perspective (pt. 3).
> 
> "Yeah, James thinks. It’s really good that they do. “Daddy keeps on loving Mommy, and Mommy keeps on loving Daddy!” James exclaims, and his grin widens. “It’s a good thing.”"

James finds it weird—how some of his friends in preschool think hugging and kissing are yucky.

Because he doesn’t, or so at least he doesn’t think seeing people hugging and kissing are yucky, since he sees it and experiences it everyday at home. He would experience it when his Mommy would come inside his room and snuggle with him and pepper kisses on his face to wake him up, and most of the time it does the work, but other times he would pass out again and sleep in his Mommy’s arms, and she would just wake him up yet again with a gentle nudge and more kisses. He would experience it, too, when his Daddy would scoop him up from his seat while he’s eating his cereals, and he would smell like his soap and fresh shampoo because he came from his morning run and he had gotten out of the shower. His Daddy would snuggle him too, and pepper his face with kisses like his Mommy.

And all of those are  _ just _ in the morning. He could continue on with the list, really—from lull downtimes where he would snuggle between his parents while they watch a movie, to even his bonding times with each of them. He grew up in a home, and in a family, where hugging and kissing—what he  _ generally _ calls  _ loving _ —is the norm, something he’s used to because he sees it everyday, especially with both of his Mommy and Daddy.

And  _ oh boy, _ do  _ they _ do it a lot.

James would sometimes be having breakfast, with the cereals his Mommy prepared for him, and after his Daddy would scoop him and greet him good morning, James would then watch his Daddy walk over to his Mommy so he could hug her from behind. His Mommy would squeal and laugh, and she would turn and pull his Daddy close so he could kiss her, even though he’s  _ sure _ that it wouldn’t exactly be their first kiss of the day considering how his Mommy wakes him up—how  _ else _ can she wake his Daddy up?

He would sometimes catch them loving each other, sometimes a  _ bit _ too much for his liking, like whenever he would walk in the living room and find them kissing, and they would be very surprised when he would call them and ask them to play with him. They would, of course, indulge him, but not after their faces turn red—especially his Daddy’s, something that James would laugh at, because his Mommy would laugh at him too, and then it would be fine. He would also find them hugging all the time,  _ snuggling, _ sometimes without him in their living room and he would pout and march over to them because why isn’t  _ he _ with them in these snuggle sessions? They would snuggle him between them, but not without a tickle fight, one he would always lose to until he’d be reduced down to a fit of laughter, because who  _ was _ he? He’s only a three-year-old little boy, after all!

He finds out too, that his Mommy and Daddy’s loving can make the other feel better. One evening when his Daddy came home from work with his Uncle Tony, Uncle Clint and Uncle Rhodey, he was looking really sad and hurt—as if he had been defeated by something really big, something that destroyed something in him even though he’s still  _ standing _ there. James did his best to lift his Daddy’s spirits, of course, with snuggles and kisses, as he did his best to return it to his Daddy the same way he always does with him. It did the work, of course, and James was able to see a smile on his face, and hear him laugh once again, before both of his parents put him back to bed that night, both of them tucking him, telling him they love him with more snuggles and kisses until he passes out.

But that same night, he also finds out that his Mommy does a better job on trying to make him feel better and lift his spirits.

He awoke that night to a sound of murmurs and sniffles, and since he sleeps with his door open slightly ajar, out of his sheer curiosity, he hopped out of the bed and risked in taking a peek of what is outside. He squinted his eyes from the light adjustments, so he blinked several times, until he saw his Daddy hugging his Mommy, but  _ this _ time, his Daddy’s face was buried in the crook of his Mommy’s neck, and her hand was rubbing his back gently and soothingly as she murmured something to him softly—in that gentle voice of hers that would guarantee to make people feel better—while his Daddy cried, murmuring incoherent words he can’t quite make of, except for a few.

“Don’t let James know about this,” James heard his Daddy say, in the midst of sniffles and choked sobs, as he lifted his head from Mommy’s shoulder, her thumbs gently brushing away the tears on his cheeks as he released a shaky breath. “He can’t know about this. I can’t let my little boy know about this.” he says.

Can’t let him know  _ what? _

“Steve…” His Mommy started to say but she just sighed and trailed off, and for a second, James wondered if she knew he’s listening, and that she would get up and put him back to bed, but she didn’t. Or at least, she  _ didn’t _ get up from where she was to put him back to bed. “Steve, he’s too young to know and understand about all of these, and even if he does, he won’t change what he sees of you.” she assured gently.

But his Daddy insisted otherwise as James watched him shake his head. “I failed, Nat, I’m a  _ failure. _ I told our boy I save people’s lives but in  _ this _ one, I couldn’t. I  _ couldn’t, _ and I watched him and his little boy die, and for a second, I was  _ scared _ because I saw—”

“Hey,  _ no, _ don’t,” His Mommy interrupted, one finger resting on his Daddy’s lips as he let out a soft whimper. “Don’t say that. Don’t say that, Steve. Our little boy is safe, he’s  _ safe, _ and he’s sleeping in his bedroom, and he’s alright.” She paused, and James watched as his Daddy sniffled and whimpered. “We won’t let anything happen to him, Steve, I promise you.”

“I let something happen to the boy,” he replied quietly, as he shook his head. “I let something happen to him, and he’s only...he’s only three, ‘bout the same age as Jamie.” He shook his head. “I didn’t get to save him, Nat, and I’m supposed to save lives.”

“I know,” His Mommy whispered. “I know, sweetheart, and I know it’s hard. It  _ always  _ is, especially when...when it comes to  _ those _ things. But it doesn’t make you a failure, nor does it make you  _ any _ less of a hero or a man for trying. You did your best, Steve, and I know it’s not good enough for that, but it doesn’t mean it’s never good enough at all.” James watched his Mommy take his Daddy’s face in her hands, and she pressed her lips softly on his. “You’re good enough, sweetheart.”

James heard his Daddy whimper, before he gathered his Mommy in his arms and pulled her closer as he kissed her too, wrapping his arms around her until she was sitting on his lap, and he held onto her like his life depended on her. For a second, James wondered if it ever did—which was probably why he kept on loving her, and why he would always show her that, even when he was sad, because it made him feel better, made him feel more whole. And he supposes that it  _ does _ —that loving his Mommy does make his Daddy feel better, because he remembers him smiling again the following morning. Though they loved more that following morning than the previous one, as if it had been a  _ little _ too much, he doesn’t mind—so as long as his Daddy was happy, and loving his Mommy made him feel better.

And there’s so much more of those kinds of stories too, the same ones that could be applied to his Mommy, who was almost  _ never _ upset or sad like how his Daddy would be sometimes. But now that he thinks about it, maybe the same thing  _ does _ apply to his Mommy too—that loving his Daddy would make her feel better lots of times too, and that loving him through lots of snuggles and kisses always makes her happy, which is why she’s always happy. He hears it too, of course, the way she’s happy in the way his Daddy loves her, and the way she’s happy in loving him back. He can hear it through his Mommy’s laughter and giggles, can see it through her wide bright smile and sparkling green eyes.

They love each other  _ too _ much, but he supposes it’s alright if it makes them happy.

And it makes him happy too, of course, the way  _ they _ do the loving with him, and the way he does the loving with them too. He loves how it makes him happy, and loves more how much  _ he _ makes them happy. Loving—and  _ yes, _ it includes snuggling and kissing—is supposed to make people feel happy, and it’s not really yucky at all.

“There’s my favorite godson!” James snaps out his own thoughts when he turns his head and finds his Uncle Bucky by the door of their floor. He grins widely and cheers, hopping off the couch to make a beeline for his godfather, who chuckles and picks him up. He’s too busy hugging his Uncle Bucky, though, to notice that even his Mommy had gotten up from the couch they were both sitting on, to join his Daddy. He doesn’t notice his Daddy smiling widely and pulling her closer to him to press a kiss on the side of her head, making her smile and laugh softly, leaning closer to him as they watch their little boy embrace his godfather happily.

“What’s the little guy been up to, hm?” Uncle Bucky asks, the corner of his mouth quirking upward as James lifts his head to face him. “You gettin’ sick of your Mom and Dad right here?” he asks, tugging down his shirt, as his Mommy and Daddy roll their eyes fondly at him and James giggles as he shakes his head.

“Not really,” James responds, and then he tilts his head to the side, quirking his mouth to the side. “But they  _ do _ keep on loving each other so much!” he responds.

And it makes the adults laugh, his Mommy and Daddy, most especially, both of their faces turning red as Uncle Bucky laughs loudly. “They keep on loving each other so much, huh?” he repeats, and James hums as he nods, grinning widely as if in affirmation. “Well, it’s a good thing they do that, don’t you think?” he asks.

_ Yeah, _ James thinks. It’s really good that they do. “Daddy keeps on loving Mommy, and Mommy keeps on loving Daddy!” James exclaims, and his grin widens. “It’s a good thing.”

It’s the  _ best _ thing it can ever happen, and so, he thinks,  maybe loving too much _really_ isn’t at all that bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompts, comments and kudos appreciated! also, check out my other works for more!


	54. Meant To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 54\. Steve remembers the time he knew Natasha was the one.
> 
> ""...That for a moment I was scared I was alone, that the life I’d tried to live again was gone, that the people I’ve met are gone, and then I also thought...why was I so scared?” he continues softly, meeting his best friend’s gaze. “Why was I so scared of being gone, of waking up alone in another time, when I’d done it before? And then I saw Nat and it just calmed me. And then that moment, I...I just knew.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and i'm back with a spur of the moment idea! hope you enjoy!

Steve takes a deep and shaky breath, the tip of his fingers tingling, his heart hammering fast against his chest, the corners of his mouth just automatically quirking upwards into a small, almost permanent smile that he’s sure will stick throughout the day. He’s having a hard time keeping still, though he’s pretty sure he’s been reminded by Bucky and the rest of his friends to try and  _ keep _ still so as to not ruin the suit, or even his perfectly combed and waxed hair. He stands in front of the mirror for the hundredth time for the last ten minutes or so, the  _ only _ thing he can look at inside this small room he is held in that won’t drive him too nuts. His focus is scattered even so, as he is filled with so much nervous anticipation, so excited and giddy that it is  _ utterly _ impossible for him to keep still.

Because in his mind, though he knows he has to keep himself focused for the events of today, he could already picture everything that can happen beyond this day. He can picture him holding her hand, thumb brushing on two rings that she would wear on her finger—one of which is the engagement ring he had proposed to her with, and the other one would be the ring  _ he _ will slip into her finger in merely less than an hour or so. He can already picture waking up next to her every morning, and sleeping beside her every evening, and while it’s true it won’t  _ exactly _ be the first time he’ll be experiencing those things with her, it’s different, still, knowing he’ll be doing that for the rest of his life. He can imagine the daily domestic struggles—of making breakfast and folding laundry, of cleaning the house and sorting the closet; it all seemed to be the  _ most _ natural thing in the world.

And in a matter of a few moments, she, his special, badass, redheaded girl, would be his  _ wife. _ How amazing would that be?

He turns his head and finds Bucky who lets out a chuckle, shaking his head fondly at seeing his best friend standing up in front of the mirror  _ again. _ “You’re impossible, you know that?” he asks, stepping inside the room and closing the door behind him as Steve chuckles. “I told you to just relax and sit down. We don’t want you walking down that aisle all sweaty and disheveled.”

“I’m careful when I move around,” he says, and Bucky raises an amused eyebrow as Steve chuckles. “Okay, maybe not normally. But today, I am.”

Bucky hums and smiles widely as Steve releases a breath, fixing his cufflinks as he looks at his reflection on the mirror. “How’s Nat doing?” he asks softly, looking at his best friend, a small and gentle smile on his face. “Got any news from the bride’s side?”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head as he tucks his hands in his pockets. “Not much, but I did pass by Belova going here. She was going in Nat’s room when I passed,” he says, and he sits on the edge of one of the chairs present in the small room. “Asked her how she was doing, and you know her. She told me the bare minimum—that the wedding’s still gonna proceed as it is.”

Steve laughs softly and nods, looking over at Bucky. “Guess that’s still worth getting relieved for,” he says, and Bucky hums, giving him a small nod in agreement as the corner of his mouth quirks in a smirk. Steve sits on the seat across from Bucky’s and he sighs. “The guys? What are they doing?”

“Making sure everything’s all set and alright, along with the ladies,” Bucky responds, and Steve nods, releasing a sigh as he rubs his hands on his thighs, and Bucky smiles, amused at the movements. “God, Steve, you’re  _ really _ nervous?” he asks, and Steve looks up at him as he chuckles.

“That obvious?” he asks, and Bucky huffs out a laugh as he shakes his head.

“You couldn’t sit still for one, and you look like a nervous wreck,” Bucky points out, and Steve lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Though I think  _ wreck _ is sort of pushing it, since you’re all dressed up and you still haven’t messed up your style. But the nervousness is still seeping through.”

Steve smiles widely. “Thought grooms are normally supposed to be nervous before the wedding?” he asks, and Bucky smirks as he shrugs.

“Don’t know. Ask Barton or Stark, they’re the  _ only _ married men in the groomsmen you picked,” Bucky quips, and Steve laughs. “Your best man isn’t even  _ married, _ and I’m supposed to be the one to give you advice on how to  _ not _ be nervous and crap like that.”

“You think Yelena’s doing the same thing for Nat?” Steve asks, and Bucky shakes his head.

“I think she’s quite the opposite, discouraging her to run off and cancel the wedding,” Bucky responds teasingly, and Steve chuckles. “I mean, by the look on her face earlier when she said the wedding would still happen—it’s not an impossible thing for her to say.”

“Then I’m glad at this point, she hasn’t been convinced by her sister yet.” Steve says, and Bucky hums.

“She won’t be convinced, I’m sure of that.” Bucky says, and Steve nods, smiling gently at Bucky whose smile widens as he shakes his head fondly, looking at Steve.  _ “God, _ Steve, you’re getting  _ married.” _

Steve chuckles and nods. “I know,” he says softly, as if  _ he _ himself couldn’t believe it as well, that he’s having a hard time wrapping his head around it. “I know, it’s...it’s insane. It seems like it was only yesterday when I first met her. When I first saw Nat a few months after waking up.”

“Seems like only  _ yesterday _ when you were that scrawny kid who would third-wheel on my dates,” Bucky responds with a smirk, and Steve grins as Bucky laughs softly. “And now you’re getting  _ married, _ ahead of  _ me, _ at that, and with the  _ hottest _ woman a man could ever dream of having.” Steve laughs.

“I’m not gonna marry her just ‘cause of  _ that.” _ he says, and Bucky chuckles and nods.

“It’s one of the obvious reasons, though,” he says with a grin. He gives Steve a small nod. “You’re lucky to have her, you know. The same way she’s lucky to have you.” Steve chuckles and shakes his head.

“I’m the luckier one to have her, Buck,” he tells him softly, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Whatever I’ve done in my life...I don’t know how I managed to deserve such a woman like her.” he says, and Bucky smiles.

“Means you’ve done good, and you  _ have _ for the longest time—you’ve been doing good to a lot of people, been giving away your all to allow people to live the best that they deserve,” Bucky tells him, and Steve smiles widely. “Now it’s time for  _ you _ to get the best that you deserve.”

Steve shakes his head lightly. “She’s more than just the best.” he says softly, and Bucky chuckles.

“And you deserve  _ more _ than just the best.” Bucky responds, and Steve smiles widely as he then nods, looking away from his best friend to look outside the large window. It’s a beautiful day outside, a bright and sunny spring afternoon outside, the sky clear and blue, in contrast with how it was raining for the past couple of days—as if it was  _ meant _ to be so clear and beautiful just for the couple’s wedding today. As if this day was  _ meant _ to be beautiful just for them, just to give them a renewed hope that their future and their years together will be as bright and clear as the day.

“Seems like only yesterday too, you know,” Steve says softly, and Bucky looks back at him, watching the small fond smile playing on Steve’s lips, the bright sparkle in his eyes even as he looks outside the window. “When I realized I was falling in love with her. When I realized that I  _ was _ in love with her.” He lets out a soft chuckle as he looks down, shaking his head as if it was a fond and distant memory.  _ “God, _ we were both so scared at that time, and I felt it from her even if I hadn’t told her yet. But even so, it just felt so...natural, I guess, how we both got into it, how we both just...fell into each other. Like it was just meant to be...and it  _ felt _ like it, it  _ felt _ like it was meant to be.” He looks up at Bucky and smiles widely. “Guess we were just meant to be.”

Bucky smiles, leaning back in his chair, watching his best friend’s wide smile and calm, contented expression. “You never told me,” Bucky tells him softly. “How you fell in love with Natalia, you never said  _ when, _ exactly, at least.” Bucky lifts a shoulder to a shrug. “All I know is that one day you told me you were having feelings for, that you were in love with her but you never said when, or  _ how.” _

Steve hums and smiles widely, leaning back in his own seat as he rests his hands on his lap. “I think I’ve always been attracted to her from the beginning.  _ That _ much was clear, at least,” he starts softly. “I mean, like you said—it’s the  _ most _ obvious reason a man could possibly fall in love with her. But...I think it was different, I guess, at least for  _ me. _ She’s always been attractive, gorgeous and all, and I’ve always been attracted but...never in love. Well, not until the time after  _ you _ resurfaced, and our lives were almost practically back to normal.”

Bucky nods. He knows this part, or at least he knows this part in the broad timeline he’d come to be familiar with. During the time he resurfaced, S.H.I.E.L.D. had started falling into shambles, as undercover HYDRA agents started coming out from inside the organization, and during then, Steve and Natasha were both on the run—both of them being targeted by the Winter Soldier and HYDRA themselves. But after they had won, and prior to the reestablishment of S.H.I.E.L.D. once again, Bucky knew almost nothing about the two of them, especially as he was taken to be rehabilitated, having been taken in by S.H.I.E.L.D. upon Natasha’s behest when she had found him dragging Steve to the banks of the Potomac.

He remembers her face at that time when she found them—a mixture of anger, frustration, worry and slight relief in her fierce eyes, those of which were glassy and red-rimmed, her lips pursed into a straight line as she watched him raise his hands in surrender after putting Steve down. She ordered for the agents to arrest him and take him, while she stayed behind with the medics to check up on Steve.

He should’ve figured it out by then. But to his defense, he  _ was _ not entirely himself during that time.

“I woke up in the hospital, she was there, and I found out she’s  _ always _ been there, and she never left,” Steve says, a small smile on his face. “It took me back to the time I woke up after seventy years in the hospital too. I didn’t know where I was, and when I looked outside, everything was different. But that time...it was a relief when I felt her hand holding mine, her head by my side, resting on the edge of the bed as she slept. And she looked tired at that time, tired yet peaceful, like the wrinkle between her brows that she used to always have whenever I’d catch her fall asleep post-missions—it wasn’t there.” Steve pauses, and then he lifts a shoulder to shrug. “And just watching her like that, I...I think I knew. I knew I  _ really _ was falling in love with her.”

And Steve lets out a soft chuckle as he shakes his head. “And I don’t know, I...I think it was also the fear of me thinking back to the first time I woke up from the ice. That for a moment I was scared I was alone, that the life I’d tried to live again was gone, that the people I’ve met are gone, and then I also thought...why was I  _ so _ scared?” he continues softly, meeting his best friend’s gaze. “Why was I so scared of being gone, of waking up alone in another time, when I’d done it before? And then I saw Nat and it just calmed me. And then that moment, I...I just knew.”

His smile turns gentle, warm and calm. “I was so scared of waking up and not finding  _ her _ there, of having to live a life again without her, like how I’d been forced to live without Peggy.” he sighs and shakes his head. “But it had been different, and at first I thought it was because I was able to say goodbye to Peggy, and I hadn’t done that with her. Then later I thought...even if I  _ had _ said goodbye to Natasha, I...I still can’t do it. I can’t  _ bear _ it—not being able to see her again, or whatever mourning or grief she would have, that it was  _ me _ who caused it. That she had hurt because of me.”

Steve lets out a soft chuckle. “When she finally woke up, she gave me that smile—that bright and relieved smile and asked me how I’d been. She took care of me during that time—she and Sam did,” he says. “But then her covers were blown, and she said she has to go...do some stuff or whatever. I asked her not to, and when she asked why...well, I couldn’t tell her yet.” He smiles. “But I think she knew, or at least she felt it too, especially when I told her she didn’t have to go, that I was here and Sam was here, and she stayed. She didn’t go.” He shrugs. “And it just went from there.”

Bucky smirks and nods. “But you didn’t act on it until...when? Christmas the following year?” he asks, and Steve chuckles and nods.

“Like I said, we were scared,” Steve says softly, and he furrows his eyebrows slightly. “Her more than me, or it was somehow the same, I guess? But it was just...I don’t know, it felt right. I thought I wasn’t ready to love again, but there I was, wanting to spend every second I have with her.” His smile widens. “I think she felt the same way.”

Bucky huffs out a chuckle. “Well, she  _ should, _ or you both wouldn’t be here.” he says, and Steve laughs and nods.

“Right, smarty-pants.” Steve says, and Bucky scrunches his nose and laughs.

“Did you just call me  _ smarty-pants?” _ he asks, and Steve laughs loudly, shaking his head. “What are you— _ eight?” _

“Technically ninety- _ eight,” _ Steve quips, and Bucky rolls his eyes fondly as he shakes his head in amusement and Steve chuckles as he huffs out a breath and stands up. “Come on, Buck, I’m getting  _ married.” _

_ This jerk, _ Bucky muses, shaking his head fondly as he chuckles, getting up from his seat.  _ Talking his love story away to calm himself down. _ He checks on his watch and smiles widely as he nods, and he looks up at Steve, just as Steve looks at his best man expectantly. “You ready?” Bucky asks, a loaded question, if he were being honest—are you ready to get married? Are you ready to see the love of your life walk down the aisle? Are you ready to finally spend the rest of your life with one woman?—but no matter what the question is, Steve still smiles widely and nods, as he only as one answer to all of it.

“I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has subtle references on multiverse of romanoff and rogers, and the "two confessions" chapter in this work, hope u got 'em both! and check out my other works too, especially my latest one (romanoff's anatomy)! as usual, drop down kudos, comments and prompts i can ponder on and write on <333 hope u stay safe wherever u are too!


	55. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 55\. A certain someone comes and visits the Rogers' in Wakanda.
> 
> "She’s not at all ready to go back to face that life yet, not when she has him, not when she has a little boy. And even though said visitor’s presence doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a sign for a mission, it still reminds her of a certain heartbreaking moment that had occurred a little over a year ago."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since i have a LOT of time (yet absolutely ZERO inspiration for new stories except for my current ongoing one), i've decided to reread state of grace! and i figured i could just put in a chapter connecting how tony might have known about james before the decimation. so, take note, this takes place in the SOG universe where: a) civil war happened, and; b) brutasha never happened. :) enjoy!!

James coos, reaching his short arms up to reach up to his Mommy as Natasha laughs softly, leaning down so the baby can touch her cheeks, and she can plant a small kiss on his forehead, rubbing her nose against his soft cheek. “My sweet boy, you like being outside with Mommy?” she asks in a small and light voice, eliciting a small giggle from the two-month-old baby.

She adjusts the baby in her arms, allowing him to stand on his wobbly legs on her lap as she holds him tight under his arms. James gurgles, and he starts marching his legs and extending his arms towards Natasha’s face as she laughs softly and presses another kiss on her son’s forehead, pulling away slightly as the baby coos, his wide and bright blue eyes sparkling as he looks at his mother, and his toothless smile wide and beautiful. It makes Natasha’s heart flutter that this smile is only for  _ her, _ and her alone, and that this little boy, who is a spitting image of a man she truly loves, and has an honor to call her husband, is  _ hers. _

She knows it’s been three months since the baby was born, and many changes have come to their lives since that day. Yet somehow her heart still leaps, as if she cannot at all fathom, at the thought of this beautiful and precious boy being her  _ son, _ her and Steve’s little boy. Their little James is half her and half him—has her hair and her nose, but has his eyes and his smile and his everything. Natasha is also quite sure James had inherited his father’s courage and heart, and she would wish for  _ nothing _ else than that.

“Look, baby,” Natasha says softly, pulling James gently closer to her as she orients the both of them to look at one of the trees in their horizon, where she spots a red bird perched on the branch. James perks in his mother’s arms, and she’s fairly certain her smart baby boy sees it too. “D’you see that? You see little birdie up there?” she asks.

James babbles, her chubby finger pointing towards the tree as Natasha chuckles softly. “Wanna walk so we can get a better look?” she asks, and the baby babbles. Natasha takes her little boy’s babble as a  _ yes, _ so she gets up from the picnic mat, fairly certain the basket will hold it down so it wouldn’t fly away with the wind. She walks over, her steps slowing as they near the tree and James coos softly, his eyes wide as he stares up at the bird—whatever  _ bird _ it was, though Natasha makes a mental note to ask Shuri more about this—and clapping his chubby hands and squealing when it started to fly.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Natasha asks softly, pressing her lips on her son’s head as they both watch the bird fly off. “It’s the same color as your hair and Mommy’s hair.”

Natasha thinks her son has a natural inclination to the natural environment, and honestly, who wouldn’t? Especially if you live in a place like Wakanda? Since his birth, both parents have made it a habit to bring James out of the palace multiple times a day. The first time is during the morning for James’ dose of healthy sunlight, where James and Natasha can watch as Steve trains on the palace garden occasionally with T’challa or W’Kabi, and the second time during late afternoon before dusk, where Steve would join them for a small picnic on the wide gardens overlooking the rest of Wakanda. Other times when Steve would be on a whole-day mission, Shuri would sometimes join them, or Queen Ramonda would, but it had only happened once or twice with the princess and the queen, though she isn’t complaining at all when she’s not joined with others. She loves being alone with her baby boy.

But they’re not supposed to be alone this afternoon, though it’s not like Natasha is taking it against Steve. She isn’t, because if anything, she’s actually grateful. A rather surprising visitor had come to Wakanda a few moments ago just when the Rogers family had laid down their picnic blanket and settled. Said visitor, however, had both Steve and Natasha on high alert—Steve, mostly, as he feared for whatever agenda that might leave her and James’ safety jeopardized—but they soon learned that said visitor had merely wanted a proper and diplomatic talk.

As friends, he had said. Teammate to teammate, former Avenger to former Avenger.

Steve had decided to go by himself, while Natasha stayed with James in the palace gardens because honestly? She’s not at all ready to go back to face  _ that _ life yet, not when she has  _ him, _ not when she has a little boy. And even though said visitor’s presence doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a sign for a mission, it still reminds her of a certain heartbreaking moment that had occurred a little over a year ago.

And she’s not ready. She’s not ready to face it yet, or come back to it, not when she’s in paradise. Not when she’s  _ here, _ with the people she loves.

Natasha feels the atmosphere around her change, and she furrows her eyebrows slightly, her arms around James tightening securely. The baby merely coos, wrapping his arms around his mother’s neck as he rests his head on her shoulder. She hears soft rustling, and on her shoulder, her son is already looking directly at said visitor, accompanied by his father and T’challa, as they walk towards them. She knows this, of course, when she starts feeling her son’s body momentarily tense up and relax—a sign that he has seen a new man, a new person, yet he has also seen someone familiar with them, like Steve.

“Romanoff.” she hears, and she sighs, her left hand resting on James’ back.

“Stark.” she responds, not turning around to face him. But what’s the use? Her son is  _ literally _ looking right at him.

There’s a pause, and she hears him sigh. “Look, can...can you please look at me, at least? I know I'm not exactly the person you _want_ to see right now, but your kid—who’s adorable, by the way, have I said that? Your kid is adorable?—is the one who’s looking at me, and it seems like  _ he’s _ the one calling  _ me _ by my last name in a flat Widow tone.” he says, and Natasha closes her eyes, pressing her lips on his head.

“How’d you know where we are?” she asks, her tone flat and quiet, still not looking back at him.

“I never lost track,” Tony says, and Natasha frowns, turning her head slightly to the side as he sighs. “Alright,  _ fine, _ I lost track at some point after I tracked you both in Paris, and the next thing I know, you’re here.”

“Does anyone else know where we are?”

“If you’re asking if Ross knows you’re here, then no, he doesn’t,” he says. “It’s just me, and it’s personal business.”

Natasha turns around, seeing Tony for the first time in over a year. He didn’t change much, of course, healed from the injuries he sustained from the last time they saw each other, yet there’s something different, something soft (albeit only a  _ little) _ in his eyes, though perhaps she can attribute it to the fact that her baby had lifted his head to also look at the stranger in front of them, talking to his Mommy.

She looks over at James in his arms, giving her baby a small smile as she brushes his hair through her fingers. “This is James, by the way,” she says quietly, her thumb brushing on her son’s rosy cheek as he gurgles softly and she chuckles. “But I’m sure you already know that, since you’ve already talked to Steve.”

Tony shakes his head, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Natasha didn’t ever think she’d seen Tony wear  _ faded _ jeans before. “He didn’t tell me his name,” Tony tells her. “He told me it’ll be up to you if you’d want me to know his name.” He shrugs. “Might’ve been a test or something, if you want to trust me or something, you’ll tell me his name.”

“Well, you know his name,” she responds, shrugging her shoulders. “Doesn’t exactly mean we trust you.”

“Doesn’t exactly mean I trust you either,” he says. “But here we are.”

Natasha tips her chin slightly up. “Here  _ you _ are.” she says quietly.

Tony nods slowly. “Here I am.” he repeats, and Natasha sighs, her jaw clenching as her eyes flicker over to Steve and T’challa, a few meters away from the both of them, the two gentlemen deep in conversation.

“He looks like him,” Tony says, and Natasha looks back at Tony, his eyes focused on James. A small smile is on the older man’s face—a small and perhaps  _ subconscious _ smile as he looks at James staring at him curiously. “But he has your hair, but everything...everything about him just screams Rogers.”

Natasha chuckles quietly and nods. “He does. He’s perfect,” she responds softly, looking over at James who looks back at his mother and coos. Natasha presses a kiss on the side of James’ head as the baby gurgles, resting his head on her shoulder. “He’s three months old now.”

Tony furrows his eyebrows slightly. “Was that your first time you and Rogers got together?” he asks, and Natasha smiles, shaking her head as she rests her hand back on James’ back, her wedding ring reflecting the light and catching Tony’s eye.

“We got together a little after Ultron,” she tells him, and Tony blinks unbelievingly, releasing a breath as he chuckles. “I don’t think we did a good job at hiding it, though, ‘cause Fury and Hill caught on almost immediately.”

“If I were around for long, I would’ve caught on immediately for sure,” Tony says almost cockily, and Natasha laughs softly as Tony smiles. “So during...the Accords? You guys were together?” he asks, because even though she defected to the other side, she  _ did _ still side with him at first, even saw her fighting him in that airport in Berlin.

Natasha nods, cuddling herself closer to her son. “It was a hard bump on our relationship, but it was fine,” she tells him with a shrug and a small smile. “Though that wasn’t  _ all _ the reason why I switched sides, you know.”

“I know, though color me surprised when I found out you were siding with me,” Tony tells her, and Natasha nods. “And though I knew what you did in the airport, as I’ve already let you know how I feel by our conversation in the hospital, I wasn’t at all surprised. But now it makes more sense.” Natasha nods again, and Tony tilts his head to the side. “You’ve always known? That all of this was a ploy to break the team apart?”

Natasha contemplates on it for a moment. “I saw the logic in the Accords at first. And believe me that even after the fiasco with the U.N. happened, we fought and argued about it, even called his side too idealistic and naive, too black and white, which it  _ was. _ But in the end, you know, even  _ you _ had to admit he had been right, and in the end,  _ that _ wasn’t what tore you both apart,” Natasha tells Tony, who nods as he looks down at his feet. “I also knew about the supersoldiers, but even  _ I _ had to admit I didn’t quite expect Zemo, though I wasn’t at all surprised either when he showed you the footage.”

The footage of Howard and Maria Stark dying at the hands of the Winter Soldier, of  _ Bucky, _ of James Barnes, her husband’s best friend, and her son’s godfather, to whom he is also named after. Tony clenches his jaw and nods stiffly. “You knew too,” he tells him, and Natasha sighs, biting the inside of her cheek as she nods. “You didn’t tell me.”

Natasha tilts her head to the side. “You wouldn’t have wanted it to come from me.” she tells him, and he purses his lips in a straight line.

“But still,” he says quietly. “There were other things.”  _ Other things you did, too, _ he meant, and Natasha nods and knows that.

“I’m sorry, Tony.” she tells him softly and sincerely, and if she was being truly honest, it feels nice having to say those words, having to finally reconnect and make amends with a fellow teammate.

“Me too,” he responds softly, and gives her a small smile to which she returns. He then nods over at James, clearing his throat as he prepares to change the subject (classic Tony, of course). “How’re you holding up with  _ that _ one?” Natasha smirks.

“With being a mother?” she asks.

_ “God, _ you and Rogers,” Tony mumbles, and Natasha laughs amusedly at how seemingly in disbelief the man still is, and with her laughter James lifts his head and Tony grins. “Seems like he likes you.”

“Well, he should ‘cause he grew inside me and I pushed him out of me,” Natasha says, smiling as James looks at her and she presses a kiss on the tip of his nose, eliciting a giggle from the baby. Tony grins widely and Natasha laughs softly as James rests his hands on her cheeks. “You love Mommy, little man? D’you love Mommy?”

James continues to babble and giggle, and Tony shakes his head fondly, grinning as he just watches James and Natasha. Natasha looks up at Tony and smiles widely. “Did you really come all the way here to meet James?” she asks, and Tony chuckles and shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We’re not going back in the field—not in the  _ near _ future, anyway, unless something really awful goes wrong, and I figured... _ well, _ it’s time to live a life. Or at least it’s time for  _ me _ to live  _ my _ life, since you and Rogers have already started on that, apparently, and you've gotten all..._mothery_ and stuff_,”_ Tony says, and Natasha chuckles and nods. “And the way for that is...to really leave all that happened behind, mistakes included, even grudges, especially so.”

“You’re really gonna leave the armor behind?” he asks, and Tony lets out a small chuckle as he shrugs.

“Every time I say I will, something shitty happens,” he says, and the corner of Natasha’s mouth quirks up into a small smirk. “I don’t think I’ll be leaving it behind just so. Like the both of you still not giving up your life on the field.” Natasha chuckles.

“It’s more just Steve as of late, and it’s more of repaying T’challa for housing us. It’s not like we live here for free,” she says, and Tony chuckles softly as he nods. “Besides, the kind of life that we lived...it’s not that easy to leave behind, you know.”

Tony nods. “I know.” he says gently. James turns his head and looks at Tony, giving him a toothless grin and a giggle and Natasha smiles. “This is Uncle Tony, Jamie. Can you say that? Un-cle To-ny.” she says, and James just claps his hands in response as Tony smiles widely at the baby.

“Nice to meet you, mini-Rogers,” Tony says, gently taking James’ hand to shake, while the baby grips his finger firmly and Tony’s eyes widen slightly. “Firm grip. Is he…” he trails off, and Natasha chuckles and nods. “A super-baby, huh? Well, let me tell you, I’m seeing a new generation of mini-Avengers—”

_ “Tony.” _

“Right, right, sorry too soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would give absolutely anything for angst prompts or prompts that may align with any mcu movie plot containing stevenat! thank u and hope u can take time to leave comments and kudos! <33 also check out my other works!


	56. Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 56\. Prompt: "Steve and Nat being so comfortable around each other and doing all those coupley things but they are not officially in a relationship." aka Steve and Natasha from others' perspectives (pt. 4)
> 
> "He’s seen the way they act, seen the way they look at each other. Surely, he isn’t the only one who thinks that what they have is more than just being best friends?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because who doesn't love a "bestfriends!stevenat" oneshot, right? thanks, VicOfficial for the prompt, and i hope you enjoy!

There’s something about these two that makes Sam pause whatever he’s doing so he can narrow his eyes in inspection at both of them.

And don’t get him wrong, he’s not at all against the whole thing. He knows Steve and Natasha are close, the two of them closer to each other than with any of the other members on the team. He knows of the great friendship Steve has with Barnes, and he also knows of the great and deep friendship Natasha has with Barton, but there’s something about the super soldier and the spy that’s just _ different, _ their friendship seemingly deeper and more valuable than any other friendships they have within the team.

Sometimes, it makes Sam think that they _ could _ be a little more than just _ best friends, _ as they would always like to say whenever he (or any other member on the team) would give a teasing remark on their closeness. _ We’re best friends, _ they would say. And _ yeah, _ sure, they could expect Sam to believe that if Steve wouldn’t turn into a blushing tomato every time the question would be raised, or if the corner of Natasha’s mouth wouldn’t quirk into a small smile before she would hide it with food or a cup of drink.

It’s happened so many times Sam had sworn he had lost count of those instances.

It really had been nothing at first, something he had attributed to their history as friends and teammates, and the fact that he knew almost close to nothing about either of them when he first noticed it. When Steve had been rescued from the Potomac by Natasha, she had refused to leave from his side since then. She had left once, for the trial and press, but immediately walked out to go back to the hospital. He had been visiting that time, when he found her fast asleep on the seat beside the hospital bed, her head resting on the space beside Steve’s arm, her hand resting atop his. He wondered how long she had been back, and how long before she would wake up to leave, but she didn’t. And she _ hadn’t, _ at all, left, even though she initially planned to, as what she had told him before.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Steve had asked her to stay, and though she never struck him as someone who would bend to just anybody else’s request, he figured that Steve wasn’t at all just _ anybody _ to Natasha. And he had begun to see and understand more of that in training, in missions, and even in their day-to-day domestic life.

One he still sees even until present.

It’s a fine and lazy afternoon, and both Steve and Sam are just lounging in the communal living room, the two men watching a Netflix movie Steve had claimed to be “good” since Natasha had recently recommended this to both men. They’re in the middle of the movie when Steve’s phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of them, on the spot beside where Sam’s feet are propped on. Steve reaches for it, and Sam watches as the super soldier’s face lights up, a smile playing on his mouth as he grabs a handful of popcorn from their shared bowl, shoving it inside his mouth before he gets up from the couch.

“Where are you going?” Sam asks, his eyes following as Steve pads his way to the communal kitchen, reaching to open the cabinets storing their snacks.

“Nat’s on the way home from the mission with Clint,” Steve explains without looking back at Sam. He takes out a box of strawberry Pop Tarts from the cabinet and closes the doors. “She’ll want some Pop Tarts when she gets back, said it was a rough mission.”

“She told you _ that?” _ Sam asks, amused, and the super soldier hums in response as he opens the box to take three packs out. “She told you she wanted some Pop Tarts, or did you just assume it?”

“I didn’t assume it, Sam, I _ know _ she wants some Pop Tarts,” Steve responds, raising an eyebrow at his friend before he closes the box and puts it back in the cabinet. “She says it over and over again every time, remember? Pop Tarts after rough missions served with black coffee after rough missions.”

“Yeah, but you _ say _ things to friends and sometimes without ever actually meaning it, or expecting your friends to do it _ for _ you,” Sam points out, his eyes following the super soldier’s movements as he opens the packets of Pop Tarts to transfer them to a plate. “You don’t actually _ do _ those things, Cap, I don’t think that’s what normal friends at _ our _ time do.”

“Well, I’m not just a normal friend,” Steve says, and Sam’s smirk widens as he reaches for the remote to pause the movie so he could orient himself to face the super soldier. Steve seems to have noticed what he said, his eyes widening as he looks up at Sam, and he begins to stammer. “I-I, what I _ meant _ was I’m _ not _ that type of friend you’re saying, I’m not the kind of friend to just...brush off a friend’s expectations, or whatever she _ or _ he would say. I-I’m a _ good _ friend, Sam, I’m…” Steve sighs and narrows his eyes at Sam’s teasing smirk. “I’m a good friend.”

“To everyone?” Sam asks teasingly, and Steve sighs.

“To everyone.”

“Then as a good friend, can _ you _ add some more Pop Tarts so I can have some?”

Steve purses his lips, and Sam waits for the super soldier to say something more, but he doesn’t. He instead sighs, and reaching for the box, he grabs another packet to open to add to the plate before he puts it in the microwave. When he finishes, he lets the Pop Tarts rest inside the microwave as he pads back to the living room, flopping down on the couch beside Sam, as the man just smirks and plays the movie back on.

“So—”

“Sam.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say,” Sam points out, attempting to hide his smile as Steve lets out an exasperated friend to turn to him, and he grins. “You and Natasha are _ just _ best friends?”

“We’re best friends.”

“Best friends.”

"Yes, _best_ friends."

“Sure.” Sam says, chuckling as he turns his attention back to the television, letting Steve have _ this _ round, seeing as he is too excited that Sam would feel bad enough to pop his bubble. He does his best to ignore the way Steve checks his phone practically every five minutes, and when FRIDAY had finally informed them of Natasha and Clint’s arrival, Sam also does his best to ignore the way Steve practically jumps out of the couch to get the Pop Tarts and coffee ready, laying them out just in time as Natasha comes to the living room, still in her suit.

He also does his best to not comment much, especially when he turns his head to find Steve murmuring something to Natasha before she nods, allowing her to be pulled in by Steve in an embrace. And even as Natasha doesn’t embrace him back, Sam still watches as she buries her face in his chest, before leading her to the kitchen island to serve her Pop Tarts and coffee, a small but bright smile appearing on her face, especially when Steve sits down beside her.

He talks quietly beside her, while she listens and munches the snack he prepared, taking a Pop Tart and offering him a bite that he takes. _ Best friends, my ass, _ Sam thinks, shaking his head fondly as he turns back to the television screen.

Three days later, a mission goes south.

And everybody had left the site practically scathed, bruised, wounded and tired. Sam patches himself up after helping Bucky treat his injured leg, and the former Winter Soldier treats his flesh arm. His injuries are not as extensive as the rest, no thanks to his gear and his ability to easily fly out as soon as danger comes his way, and the same can be said with both Tony and Rhodey, who are both piloting the jet back home as the rest of the team treats their own wounds and bruises.

The hardest hit among them all, of course, is Captain America himself, who had been in the frontline of the fight that ensued with the mercs.

And his injuries are not as bad either (well, not as bad as his past injuries, but still bad, he supposes), and as Sam turns to look at him to see if he still needs medical attention, he finds him already being treated and patched up by Natasha. He recalls her running straight towards him as soon as they were able to apprehend the men after the whole fight, and he remembers forcing herself to carry him up, until Sam eventually helps her to lift Steve up so they could help him back to the jet. He’d been called in afterwards for a quick cleanup, as he had been among the few who had been less injured, and that was when he had lost sight of the two.

They had, apparently, disappeared into their own world at the back of the quinjet.

Natasha is silent as she continues to wrap bandages on his arm, probably the last injury she is able to patch up before they could fully get some medical attention. Her leg is draped over Steve’s lap, and Sam sees as Steve is also working on a long gash on her thigh. She winces as he must have tightened the bandage around her thigh.

“Sorry,” Sam hears Steve mumble. “This okay?”

She simply nods, her lips pursed tight and eyes hard as she focuses on her work. Steve sighs, and he rests a hand on her knee, catching her attention as she looks up at him. Sam proceeds to retrieve some meds and bandages from the first aid kit he used with Barnes, forcing himself to look away from the two as he feels as though he is interrupting a special moment between them.

_ Best friends _ don’t have _ these _ kinds of special moments, do they?

“I’m okay,” Steve says quietly, and if Sam hadn’t been too nosy and listening to their small conversation, he would’ve missed it. “‘M okay now.”

“You got hurt _ again,” _ Natasha responds, equally as quietly as he had. “And you _ promised _ you wouldn’t jump in front of a fight ahead of all of us again, Steve, you _ promised. _ We’ve talked about this, and you _ promised _ me. You always keep your promises, but why can’t you keep _ this _ one?” Her voice cracks in the end, and Sam is almost tempted to look but he doesn’t. He feels nosy enough listening to a conversation that’s obviously _ meant _ for just the two of them.

But still, if it’s between his two close friends (that are _ best friends, _ as they claim—best friends who have special, supposedly uninterrupted moments, and life-or-death promises, if that’s a thing), he’s allowed, right? Sam reaches for the first aid kit again to retrieve some bandages, and in the corner of his eyes, he sees Steve lift a hand to brush some of the hair from Natasha’s face, the movement almost too natural for both of them, as Natasha does not even flinch nor tense up.

(To add: so they’re _ best friends _ who have _ intense _ special moments, life-or-death promises and show physical intimacy. Sure, _ best friends.) _

“I know,” he responds. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I’m okay now, yeah?”

“That serum won’t help you _ all _ the time, Rogers.”

“It’s not as bad as it seems.”

“You always _ say _ that,” Natasha hisses, her eyes glassy and hard as she glares up at him, and even as he is not on the other end of that icy glare, Sam still feels himself shiver as if Natasha is looking at _ him. _ “But most of the time, it ends up getting worse than what you think it is.”

“But _ this _ one isn’t as bad, and I promise for that to be true.” Steve says, sighing as Natasha silently huffs out a frustrated breath.

“Not as bad compared to other missions, but it’s still bad,” Natasha points out. “And you _ still _ broke me a promise.”

“I’m sorry. Don’t be mad,” Steve tells her softly, and Sam turns his head slightly to watch Steve smile, and the spy just furrows her eyebrows, looking down at her lap as Steve lowers his head to meet her eyes. _ “Please _ don’t be mad. I could really use a movie night to relax tonight.”

“Steven Rogers, I swear to god—”

“We’ll get ice cream after passing by the med wing, and it’s _ my _ treat tonight but your choice,” Steve adds, and Natasha grumbles as Steve gives her a small and apologetic smile. “Natasha Romanoff, please don’t be mad.”

Him calling her by her full name seemed to have done the trick (for whatever reason, an inside joke, perhaps?), because the corner of Natasha’s mouth quirks upwards, her attempt to suppress it failing miserably as she huffs out a quiet chuckle as she shakes her head. “I want double chocolate chip tonight, _ and _I get to pick the movie.” she says.

“No horror movies, please?”

_ “Definitely _ a horror movie.”

Steve groans, and it elicits a small laugh from Natasha. “What kind of best friend are you?” he asks teasingly, and Sam hears a thump and a hushed ‘ow!’ from Steve, and Sam thinks Natasha might have probably punched him.

“The kind that just wants you alive, dummy.” she responds.

Or the kind that’s _ not _ at all just a best friend, Sam might add, but he keeps mum about his own thoughts. He also ignores the fact that soon after patching each other up, Steve, overwhelmed by exhaustion, lays his head on Natasha’s good lap, while Natasha rests her head back and closes her eyes, her fingers idly brushing through his hair soothingly. They stay like that all the way back home, only getting up once the S.H.I.E.L.D. medic had come in with a gurney to treat Steve, but even then, Natasha had refused to leave his side.

He’s seen the way they act, seen the way they look at each other. Surely, he isn’t the only one who thinks that what they have is more than just being _ best friends? _

The same night, Sam had gone down from his room to the communal kitchen for some midnight snack. He expects to find the entire floor dim and dark, but is surprised to find the television screen on, a movie playing silently with the subtitles on, and he spots Natasha on the couch, her eyes fixated on the screen he would’ve thought she hadn’t heard him coming in.

“If you’re here to grab some Cheetos, this is the last one.” she says quietly, looking up at him and giving him a smirk. Sam chuckles and shakes his head.

“I’ll go find another, then,” Sam says, padding over to the communal kitchen. “You enjoy silent films nowadays, Romanoff?”

“Ha ha, Wilson,” Natasha responds teasingly, rolling her eyes playfully as she huffs out a chuckle, and Sam laughs. “Don’t wanna disturb someone’s slumber.”

“I’m sure your movie won’t be loud enough to disturb _ everyone _ sleeping on different floors of the Tower.” Sam points out, retrieving a bag of potato chips from the cabinet as she shakes her head.

“Don’t wanna disturb _ someone’s _ slumber,” Natasha repeats, and Sam furrows his eyebrows in confusion, making his way to the living room to find a deeply-asleep Steve sleeping on the couch, his head on her lap, and a blanket draped over him. “He fell asleep in the first fifteen minutes of the movie I told him to watch with me, so I switched into something that _ I _ like.”

“You couldn’t just wake him up so he could sleep on his bed?” Sam asks, and Natasha contemplates for a moment before shaking her head slightly, giving Sam a small smile.

“He was really tired, and I’d hate to disturb his sleep,” she responds quietly, looking down at Steve’s face, his expression peaceful and comfortable, deep asleep on Natasha’s lap. “Plus, I tried waking him, but he wouldn’t budge a muscle, so there’s that. Luckily someone left a blanket here.”

“Think that belongs to Barnes,” Sam says, and Natasha hums and nods. “You’re gonna be out here the whole night?”

“Or at least ‘till he wakes up,” Natasha tells him softly, and Sam gives her a small smirk as he nods, and Natasha huffs out a breath and shakes her head. “Spit it out, whatever it is, Sam.”

Sam grins and raises his hands in surrender. “Not about to say anything,” he says, and Natasha narrows her eyes at him as he chuckles. “What’s there to say? You’re _ best friends, _ aren’t you?”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” she points out with a raised eyebrow, and Sam hums as he gives her a smile.

“What’s bad is if you still don’t see that it’s not _ just _ a ‘best friends’ thing, this thing you both have. It could be something more,” he says, and Natasha’s small smile fades slightly, as if struck with the realization of something that he had said. “I’m just saying, you know? Just a friend looking after his friends.”

Natasha blinks for a moment as she looks away, and after a few beats, she looks back up at Sam and shrugs. “Steve’s my best friend, Sam.” she says softly, as if that would be enough to explain everything. Perhaps, it _ does _ explain a lot of things, including the way they look, the way they act, their small moments and their small gimmicks for just the two of them, but whatever the explanation of these things are, Sam figures, he’s too tired to figure out.

Besides, it’s not _ him _ who should be doing the ‘figuring out’ things, it’s them—the two _ best friends. _

“I know,” Sam responds with a small nod. He sighs, and gives Natasha a small smile. “Night, Nat.”

“Night, Sam.”

Sam pads out of the living room, taking one last look at Natasha (and Steve asleep on her lap) before he steps in the elevator. He had hoped to say it to make her realize something, as if their constant teasing of _ them _ being “just best friends” wouldn’t be enough to make them fall over the edge. It wasn’t just him, he supposes, right? _ He’s _ not the only one hypersensitive about what _ could _ be of Steve and Natasha’s friendship, not the only one who feels the tension and the sudden shift in atmosphere, as if he’s intruding on something important, whenever they get into their own personal world with each other?

He’s not the only one who sees how these two act—like they’re best friends...in love, right?

It’s difficult to say, because it’s not like it’s an easy topic to open up to _ anyone _ to, especially not if he’s still a bit new to the team (he considers six months still new—so _ yes, _ he’s still new to the team to form any gossip of some sort), and the people he considers himself to be personally close with are the _ two _ people concerned. Perhaps it _ is _ a little too early to assume things about their friendship, or perhaps he _ is _ a little too presumptuous to assume things about his two close friends. Maybe they _ are _ just best friends, and maybe their relationship as best friends is just something that’s really special, something unbreakable yet merely _ just _ platonic.

He takes back all of these thoughts, of course, when the following morning before proceeding to the training facility, he finds them tangled up together on the couch, the blanket that was draped over Steve the previous night now draped over both of them. Her head rests on his chest, one hand over his heart, and his hand rests on the small of her back. They’re both fast asleep, their expressions peaceful and comfortable. Sam figures Steve might have woken up to find Natasha also fast asleep last night, and he’d adjusted himself so they could fit on the couch, draping the blanket over the both of them as they both fall back asleep again.

It’s a Steve thing to do—being unable to wake someone from a nap when he sees the other one is already too comfortable and deep asleep, something that must have rubbed on to Natasha, as it’s exactly what she had done last night with him too. It’s a very...best friends thing to do.

“Nah, man,” Sam mumbles to himself, shaking his head as he crosses his arms over his chest and lets out a soft chuckle. “This ain’t just a best friends thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> other prompts are lined up and ready to be written! if you have any more, comment down below. thank you so much, you guys! <33


	57. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 57\. Steve and Natasha post-Civil War, partly "Steve and Natasha from others' perspective".
> 
> "...Perhaps of the mistake she had made in not choosing his side earlier, perhaps of the guilt she feels of not standing by his side when she should have. Perhaps she feels the same too. How he wishes he could’ve said those things to Steve to mend at least one of these broken and guilt-ridden hearts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not at all sure if this was a prompt (by steveandnatlover, i think? correct me if i'm wrong!) that's basically stevenat reunion post-civil war, when nat thought steve was mad at her for not choosing his side, and steve thinking that nat was mad because of what happened in siberia. hope you like this one!
> 
> comments, reviews and kudos appreciated!

Bucky plucks out a plum from the bunch on the fruit basket on the table living room, and in the corner of his eye, he sees Natasha alone, sitting by the dining table of their small safehouse, her duffel bag still unpacked and still on the tabletop. She seems to be busy, scrolling through a tablet she had bought, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pursed in a tight straight line. Her eyes are focused on the tablet screen, yet somehow Bucky can still tell that her mind is elsewhere, bouncing between the tablet and...elsewhere.

“You okay?” he asks, leaning against the counter and regarding Natasha. The redhead looks up from the tablet and up at Bucky, her eyes questioning and confused. “You haven’t unpacked, and you’ve been here since last night.”

Natasha sighs, looking back at her tablet and flipping it down, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her seat. “I’m not going to turn you in, if that’s what you’re thinking.” she says, and Bucky frowns, taking a bite from the plum as he shakes his head and chews the fruit carefully before speaking.

“It’s not. Which is why I’m asking,” he says, lifting a shoulder to shrug. “If it’s the size of the room, you can always ask one of us to exchange—”

“It’s not that, James,” Natasha says with a small laugh, and the corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks upwards at the name she just called him. Natasha seems to have only noticed it too, and she gives him a small smile of her own. “It’s...it’s the opposite.” She looks away and sighs. “I’m not exactly sure if I’m welcome here, you know? N-not in the...not in the entitled sense, it’s...you know.”

Bucky blinks, taking another bite before he looks away from her as well. “I know,” he says quietly, and Natasha looks back up at him as he continues to stare at the empty space in front of him. “But think about it, you wouldn’t really  _ be _ here right now if you weren’t. Sam wouldn’t have shown you a spare room, and I wouldn’t exactly be here talking to you if you weren’t  _ welcome, _ like you said.”

Natasha hesitates before she shakes her head. “Steve hasn’t,” she responds almost defeatedly and dejectedly, and Bucky looks back at her as she turns her head away from him. “I know he’s gone with you to meet up with me, but...it’s nothing, still nothing.” She pauses, swallowing the lump in her throat as Bucky waits for her patiently to continue. “So I don’t...I don’t really know if  _ he _ is welcoming me here entirely or something.”

Bucky regards her for a moment, hesitating to say something as he puts the half-eaten plum down on the counter, crosses the dining area to sit across her. “Why would he be angry at a woman he spends months looking for?” he asks, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows together in confusion, but says nothing.

He clasps his gloved hands together, and Natasha looks up to meet his eyes as Bucky gives her a small and disarming smile. “You and Stevie...you have something special, don’t you?” he asks, even though he’s already certain of the answer. He’s certain of it because he’s heard of it, and because he  _ sees _ it, in both him and her. He sees the special connection even if they had been apart, so he’s most definitely certain of the supposed response.

But it seems like  _ she _ is the one uncertain of what to respond—genuinely so, because she sinks back in her seat, and looking away from him, shakes her head. “I don’t know if you would call it special,” she says quietly. She furrows her eyebrows in confusion and in contemplation, and it amazes Bucky, how much this puzzles her, how much this puts this usually refined and composed woman into a daze of her own confusion and uncertainty. “That’s...that’s pushing too far. He’s my partner on the field, it’s all. We’ve gone through a lot.”

Bucky has to admit, he might  _ never _ get used to this—seeing Natasha so uncertain of herself, so lost and confused. He’s always seen her as someone strong, someone so sure and so stubborn, that  _ this _ woman in front of him? This version of Natalia right in front of him? A complete stranger. Though she was trained well by the Red Room to lie, feign emotions and expressions, use it on her mark and on her missions, he always had the ability to see right through her. Perhaps it was because  _ he _ had been the one who trained her so. Perhaps it was also because  _ he _ had the privilege to see what’s right underneath the fake emotions, and take a peek on her real ones,  _ all _ those years ago back in the KGB.

Seeing her like this feels too real for him. It takes him back, yet he also knows that the emotions she had been showing to him way before can never compare to the raw emotions she is expressing now: the confusion, the anxiety, the uncertainty, the sadness.

The love. No matter what the form of it may be.

“I bet it is,” Bucky says gently, and Natasha looks back up at him again, her eyes wide and imploring for him to proceed. He gives her a gentle smile and he shrugs. “He’s told me. About the two of you before all of these happened.”

Natasha just stares at him, and for a moment he wonders if he’s said something wrong, if he’s hit a nerve or if he said something he shouldn’t have. He can never really tell with her, and he can never tell as well what might come next should one of those be correct. But she just exhales a breath and shakes her head. “What did he tell you?” she asks in a small voice, and she clears her throat once again before repeating. “What did he tell you...about us? Before all of these happened?”

He figures there might have been a lot to tell, basing it from his own best friend’s stories, and from her questions and the way she asks them, like she’s defending all those stories as if they’re sacred, something nobody but them should know. She defends it like it’s the most important thing in her life,  _ more _ important, even, than her life. Or so she makes it look like it, at least.

So Bucky sits back in his seat, mirroring her posture as he crosses his arms over his chest and just stares into her mesmerizing jade eyes. “Things that you did, and things you said to each other,” he says. “He told me about Sokovia, about the two of you being the last one on that rock, how you got closer because of that.” He pauses to check her expression, but she is so far giving him nothing. “He told me about the panic attacks and nightmares, techniques you would do to calm the other down from crying or hitting the punching bag too hard in the middle of the night.”

Something flashes in her eyes, but as quickly as it came, it had also disappeared, and Bucky sighs. “Look, if you’re asking for  _ any _ specific events that he might have told me that you might never want  _ anybody _ to know, then you’ll be gettin’ nothin’. He didn’t tell me anything too specific. Or at least too personal.”

Natasha purses her lips. “Then how can you tell that what we had was something special like you said?” she asks, and Bucky tips his chin upwards, one corner of his mouth quirking into a small smirk.

“Because he says your name each time he has a nightmare,” he says, and Natasha’s jaw clenches, something that doesn’t escape his notice. “It’s as if he’s calling for you. When I asked about it, it was only then he told me of your techniques to calm the other down during nightmares.” He takes a deep breath and he shrugs. “Plus, he asks Sam everyday if he’s heard anything from you since you helped him get everyone out of the Raft. When you finally made contact, he came up with the rendezvous plan so Sam can tell you.”

“Why didn’t he tell me himself?” she asks quietly, and Bucky shrugs.

“You tell me,” he says, and Natasha looks down at her lap as Bucky sighs. “When he told me...it wasn’t just to answer my question after I asked him why he says your name each time he wakes up.” She looks back up at him with furrowed and confused eyebrows. “I never saw it coming, his reason for doing it, but...he wanted to ask me if I’d be okay with it.”

“If you’d be okay with what?”

Bucky shrugs. “If I’d be okay with my best friend loving someone I once did in another life.” he responds, almost nonchalantly and so casually, yet it’s a surprising piece of story to Natasha as her eyes widen, her mouth slightly open as if to say something.

He recalls that night too, the way he was asked by Steve, the way his question was phrased, knowing very well the history they once had, the history that, well...they don’t  _ fully _ remember as two adults who had recently broken free of the spells of the KGB.  _ I wanted to ask if it would be okay with you, given the history you both had, even though you might consider it as another life you once had,  _ he started.  _ She called it like so, but it might not be for you. _

As if he had  _ wanted _ to become the Winter Soldier.

_ I think I like her, Buck, and there’s no other way of saying it, _ he said almost sheepishly and shyly.  _ And I wanted to ask if it would be okay with you that I do, because if it’s not, it’s...it’s fine, it totally is. _

_ You knew her first, _ he said.  _ Knew her better and longer than he did. _

Bucky wanted to respond that he knew her  _ better, _ knew the  _ real, _ and more authentic and freer her better than he did, because all Bucky ever knew was little Natalia, the girl he once trained, he once loved and he had lost.

_ She is not that girl anymore, _ he wanted to say.  _ The girl I loved is different from the woman you do, he wanted to say. _

But he wasn’t sure back then, wasn’t sure as he was afraid he might keep his best friend’s hopes up, so he had relented into not saying anything more. Now he’s certain of the truth in his words, because of how the redhead in front of him frowns in sadness and in heartbreak, perhaps of the mistake she had made in not choosing his side earlier, perhaps of the guilt she feels of not standing by his side when she should have. Perhaps she feels the same too. How he wishes he could’ve said those things to Steve to mend at least one of these broken and guilt-ridden hearts.

_ “Are you alright with it?” _ she asks in Russian, and when Bucky looks up, he finds her eyes looking at him. He tips his chin up and meets her eyes.

_ “Would you think I’d be telling you all of these if it wasn’t?” _ he asks back in fluent Russian, and he watches as Natasha swallows the lump in her throat and clenches her jaw as she looks away momentarily from him.  _ “It is alright to love him, you know? Let yourself love him back if it is what your heart is telling you to do.” _

She shakes her head and meets his gaze once again.  _ “Love is for children.” _ she says, and Bucky shakes his head.

_ “That’s what they always say, but you’ve always known how untrue it was. The love you have for him is not the same love we once had, Natalia,” _ he responds, and it might have surprised her, the way he had brought up their ancient and once-forbidden affair, with the way her eyes soften as she looks at him, her gaze melancholic yet without longing, something akin to nostalgic perhaps, like she’s remembering the good times they once had, albeit only few.  _ “This one is different, stronger and not childlike. This one is real and free, not like ours when we both are not completely ourselves.” _

He says  _ completely, _ because he must admit that in some way he really did love her. Some part of James Barnes must have, the same way some part of Natalia Romanova did, even without the Red Room telling them to do so.

Natasha doesn’t respond for a while, and Bucky attributes this to the redhead probably contemplating, either for an answer to what he just said or her next move, whether it will concern Steve or not. “I’m scared I’ve already lost him, James,” she confesses in a hushed voice, switching back to English. “If he doesn’t forgive me for what I did...I don’t know what I’m gonna do anymore.”

“Have you asked him?” he asks, and she shakes her head. “How could you be scared if you haven’t even asked yet?” he asks, and Natasha shakes her head again.

“We haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye since I came here,” she says, attempting a light tone as she raises an eyebrow and smirks, but all of it fades quickly. “How could I ask if he doesn’t want to be in the same room as me? If he can’t even  _ stand _ to be in the same room as me?”

Bucky wants to say it, but he figures it’s not his place to do so.

“You go talk to him,” he says gently, giving her a small smile. “You say all the things you need to before he says his piece. You know how much courage he needs when he starts to want to talk about his side of things in stuff like this. I promise you it would be better than how you think it would go.”

Natasha considers this for a moment, before she finally exhales a breath and nods. She then looks back up at James and gives him a real smile. “For the record, James, you were  _ still _ the one good thing I remember from the Red Room.” she says, and Bucky has to chuckle at that, giving her a wide smile in return.

He knows. It’s the same for him too, and she knows that, too.

* * *

Steve looks up when he hears three knocks, and before he could permit said knocker to come in, the door opens revealing Natasha. “May I come in?” she asks in a small voice, almost as if he couldn’t recognize it to belong to her. Nevertheless, he nods, and he watches as she steps inside, closing the door gently behind her.

“What’s up?” he asks, after a deep breath as he faces her. “You settle in alright in the spare room?”

She doesn’t respond, and in the dim light, he can see her hesitating eyes and unsure expression. But he has known her all too well, and all too thoroughly, for him to miss the glint in her eyes telling him that something is wrong, that something is bothering her, that her coming up to his room isn’t just a mistake, nor is it a friendly visit either.

And he might just have a clue on what it is, but in all honesty, he’s afraid to speak it out as well.

She crosses the room and takes a seat on the bed, while he takes a few steps, creating a safe distance between them as he looks away from her. They wait for either one to speak first, neither knowing what to say first, and neither one knowing  _ how _ to say what they wanted to say. There was too much, they suppose, too much they need to speak of, yet neither of them sure if it’s worth speaking of, if it’s even worth going back and reminiscing for—all the pain and betrayal that occurred, the unworthiness and the hurt they’ve experienced with each other.

But there  _ is _ something worth salvaging, they figure. Their friendship, and all the “special” moments they once had, all of it worth more than the pride they have, all of it is worth salvaging, worth all the unwanted pain that would come back should they have their conversation.

“Steve—”

“Nat, I—”

They speak at the same time, pause at the same time at the realization. They laugh almost nervously and awkwardly, like they were two strangers to each other, neither knowing how to move and how to react with the other. “You first.” Steve says quietly, giving her a small and uncertain smile. He watches as she purses her lips and nods, and she takes a deep breath and folds her hands on her lap.

“I just...I…” Natasha starts, struggling with her words as she huffs out a breathy and nervous laugh. She looks away from him and shakes her head. “I...I don’t know how…what I wanted to say was…” She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath as Steve waits patiently, his heart thumping in his chest in both nervousness and anticipation, quite uncertain what she was gonna say, yet still patient as he looks at her with gentle eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m...I’m sorry. About the whole Accords, about...about choosing Tony’s side over yours, it’s…” She shakes her head, and Steve furrows his eyebrows in both surprise and confusion. “I know I...I really screwed up, and if there’s anything—”

“What, Nat, no,” Steve interrupts, shaking his head, and he immediately regrets so, because a flash of hurt comes across Natasha’s eyes, and he immediately sits beside her on the bed, one hand resting on top of hers on her lap. Her eyes widen slightly in surprise and confusion, her expression raw as she looks up at him with furrowed and confused eyebrows. “No, I meant...I...did you think I was mad because you chose Tony’s side over mine?”

Natasha gazes into his eyes, confusion spread across his face as she blinks several times, suddenly feeling so self-conscious and absurd. “Well, yeah, I…” she trails off and shakes her head. “Steve, you...I thought you didn’t wanna see me, I…”

Tears start filling her eyes, and she looks away before he can even see her bottom lip wobble, frustration slowly building up inside her chest as she starts feeling so  _ pathetic _ and absurd, as if so desperate for his attention and something else she can’t at all point out. All the moments of him being unable to meet her gaze, him moving whenever she steps in the same room as him, him just  _ averting _ and avoiding her altogether just keeps crashing down, every memory echoing inside her mind.

And it  _ hurts. _ It hurts, and it’s killing her from the inside out, and she can’t bear to have any of it anymore. But she also can’t bear to lose him.

She’s already  _ so _ tired, and all she ever wants and all she ever  _ needs _ is for him to forgive her, for  _ them _ to be alright, for them to go back to the way they were, and it’s absolutely  _ pathetic _ how she feels that way, because it’s as if like she has gone back to being a young teenage girl in love, like how she had been when she had first fallen in love with the Winter Soldier, so  _ small _ with a fragile heart, and she’s not that  _ girl _ anymore, she’s not—

“Nat.” he calls, his voice soft and gentle that she had to look despite the tears already threatening to fall from her eyes. His gaze is gentle and almost  _ painfully _ understanding, and so is his touch, as he lifts a hand to cup her face, using his thumb to brush away the tears that have already fallen from her eyes, and it hurts to be on the other hand of his gentle gaze and touch, because  _ no, _ she doesn’t deserve such when she had betrayed him, when she chose another one over him, when she had practically left him, when she turned her back on him.

She’s absolutely  _ tired, _ and she just wants for them to be alright, for them to be just  _ them. _ She’s tired and she misses him, and she wants to be enveloped in his arms like how they used to before the Accords, and wants him to whisper sweet nothings and nonsense to him until she falls asleep. So she sucks down whatever pride she has left, as she takes a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers weakly and pathetically, and she curses herself inwardly at how weak she must have sounded. She shakes her head and shuts her eyes tight, withdrawing her hand away from his hold. Steve just looks at her, gaze sad and pleading and as  _ desperate _ as how she honestly feels. “Steve, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She looks back at him as more tears flow from her eyes—tears borne out of exhaustion and guilt, and she opens her mouth as a whimper comes out, feeling so small as she shakes her head. “I didn’t...I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t  _ want _ anything that happened happen, and...and I know I should’ve tried harder, I should’ve...should’ve just stayed with you, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” he says, and when she looks up at him, his head is lowered, long hair almost covering a part of his face that she cannot see his eyes. She does, however, see his bottom lip trembling, chin quivering and she fights the urge against holding his hand, taking it in hers, but she’s not at all certain if it’s the right move to make. “None of this is your fault, you didn’t do anything. You didn’t...there was nothing you could’ve done, Nat, it’s…”

Steve huffs out a breath and looks up at her, his eyes glazed with tears. He shakes his head and swallows down the lump in his throat. “Buck and I...we found the other Winter Soldiers in the Hydra base in Siberia,” he starts quietly, and Natasha just looks at him as he averts her gaze and looks down. “We didn’t know Tony followed us, and he wanted to strike a truce because he found out Buck was framed, and Zemo...he was responsible for all of it as a way to get back to the team for Sokovia. When we got there, all soldiers were killed, and…” He pauses and shakes his head, finding himself unable to continue but forces himself nonetheless. “He showed the tape, Nat. The one from 1991 where the Winter Soldier killed Howard and his wife, he…”

Natasha’s mouth opens slightly in surprise and understanding, as everything starts clicking into place. Barnes was used as a weapon to stop the Avengers, in such a way that it will destroy them from the inside, break them apart one by one, first by their stances on their actions, and second by their stances on their personal relationships. Steve had chosen to keep mum and protect Bucky, while Tony felt betrayed by all of it.

“And we...we fought. We fought, Nat, he...he turned on me and Bucky, and I...I  _ had _ to protect him, Nat, because he didn’t even wanna fight. He…” Steve trails off, and Natasha licks her lips and nods understandingly.  _ He didn’t wanna fight him, because he knew what he did wrong, thought he deserved to be on the other end of the rage. _ “Bucky wasn’t fighting him, and I  _ had _ to fight for him, and…” He pauses and shakes his head. “He cut off Buck’s metal arm and I left my shield, and I left him for  _ dead. _ I left him for dead, Nat, and I don’t…” He sighs and looks back up at Natasha, tears filling his eyes, and a pained frown and expression on his face. “Who  _ does _ that? Who  _ does _ that to his friends and teammates, who...who  _ does _ that?”

_ Not him, _ Steve thinks.  _ Not Captain America. _ Which is why he left the shield, why he can’t even bear to keep the title anymore. It sounds dishonorable, going against everything the title stands for. But he did it, anyway, and here they are.

Steve shakes his head, all while Natasha takes all of the information,  _ all _ of the story he had just told. It’s admittedly a  _ lot _ to take in, a lot of things that happened while she went on the run and rogue away from the entire team, away from the sight of the government and of her teammates.  _ Ex-teammates, _ at least. She knew Tony would find out the truth about his parents’ death, James’ involvement and the fact that Steve knew about it yet kept it from him. She knew he was bound to go on a rampage about it, too, but never knew it would go as far as hatred and rage, so much so that it didn’t only break the team but also the friendship they built.

She never thought it could happen, but it did. Now here they are.

“Even if you picked my side, or his, it all boiled down to that,” Steve says quietly, and he inches himself closer, lifting his shaky hands to cup her face as she sighs and rests her hands atop his. She leans into his touch and meets his gaze as Steve closes his eyes momentarily, his bottom lip still shaking, his hands cold against her face. She pulls herself closer to him, resting their foreheads together as Steve lets out a shaky breath. “You didn’t do anything, you...it’s all my fault, Nat,  _ my _ fault. I took away your home, and I took away the  _ one _ family you have—”

“No.” Natasha whispers as she shakes her head.  _ That’s not true, _ she wants to say.  _ You didn’t take away everything. _ But Steve also shakes his head, closing his eyes and releasing another shaky breath and a whimper.

_ “I _ could’ve fixed it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I could’ve fixed it, could’ve fixed everything to make it go back the way it was, make  _ us _ go back to the way we were, but I didn’t. I destroyed it, Nat, I destroyed...I destroyed everything! I took away your freedom, your home, your family—”

_ “You’re _ my family,” Natasha whispers, pulling away slightly from him to look at him in the eyes as he places her hands on his face, thumbs brushing to wipe off the tears flowing from his eyes. His eyes are wide and glassy, wet with tears and red-rimmed and  _ tired, _ so tired, and if she can, she could just will for all of it to be wiped off, anything she can do just to see those clear blue eyes again. “You’re my family, Steve, and I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you, Steve, I can’t—”

She is cut off when he kisses her hard, his lips pressed desperately on hers that it takes her by surprise. She whimpers against his mouth, kissing him back as fervently and desperately and passionately as she can, like how she had on some rare nights they used to spend together on either of their beds, when there had been  _ nothing _ but lust and want between them. Now there’s just  _ nothing _ but desperation, desire, the fear of losing the other, and…

And love.  _ Love, _ because whether the other admits it or not, they love each other. More than just how colleagues and partners, and best friends and confidants love each other. Their love is a combination of all of that, and they know it. They know it by their kiss, by the way their hands move so desperately to touch every inch of the other, pulling each other close as if closing every inch of distance between them, made wide because of the Accords, because of the misunderstandings, the fights, the feelings of hurt and slight betrayal...

They can’t lose each other. They  _ can’t _ lose each other, no matter what they did, no matter what they said. They lost each other, and for some miracle, have found each other again. They can’t lose each other. They can’t.

They pull away, but not too far from each other, as they catch their breaths, both their eyes closed as their foreheads still touch. Natasha releases a shaky breath as she lifts a hand to rest on his face, thumb brushing his cheek. “You’re not angry?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. It’s a pathetic question, really, one she doesn’t at all need to ask if they’ve literally already made out, but then again, she’s made out and kissed men she disliked, slept with men that were her enemies. Who knows if it’s the exact same thing he did to her?

But a part of her thinks that  _ no, _ he’s not that kind of man. He would never do that. He would never do that to  _ her. _

His mouth breaks into a small, crooked smile. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I were,” he teases lightly, and she lets out a small chuckle as he cups her face, a hand running through her short and blonde hair. “I was never angry with you.”

_ Why?, _ she wants to ask, because if it were her, he  _ should _ be angry with her. He  _ should _ be hurt, and angry that she left his side and only defected afterwards when it was all too late. He  _ should _ be angry she wasn’t there to protect him and help him deal with the situation with Tony, angry she only surfaced after  _ months _ of disappearance. She’s heard how great of a toll it had been, him looking for her, him searching for her…

_ Why would he be angry at a woman he spends months looking for? _

“Are you...are you angry at me?” he asks quietly, and she sees his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he releases a shaky breath. “For...for the Accords, for the fight, for Bucky, for…” he trails off, unable to continue. But even as he doesn’t say it, Natasha already knows. She already understands.

_ For Tony, _ he means. For what he did to Tony, for leaving him in Siberia for dead, choosing Bucky over him and not settling this right. For breaking the team apart and breaking his ties with him completely.

Natasha gives him a small and gentle smile, running her fingers through his long, smooth and soft hair, cupping the back of his head as she presses a quick and gentle kiss on his lips. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I were,” she repeats softly, and Steve sighs in relief, his eyes closing as he leans to rest his forehead against hers, pressing a kiss on the tip of her nose and on the corner of her mouth. “I will never be angry with you.”

_ Even if he tries, _ she thinks. Even if he tries with whatever guilt he has pent up in his chest, she doesn’t think she can ever hate him. She understands his actions, understands his rationale, and while she may sometimes disagree with him, none of it will be enough for her to be angry with him. She doesn’t think she can ever be angry at him.

Because she loves him, and this love goes deeper than the typical romantic love either of them could ever think of, their trust even deeper than they could ever trust anyone in their lives. It's the kind of love that has been on the works for years, have gone through storms and rainbows and fights, and have still survived and have come out strong through it all. It's the kind of love that stays, the kind of love that fights. And she's here for it. _Both_ of them are here for all of it.

The relief of such love and trust restored, of the wars in their minds being settled and quieted down, must have washed over them, overcame them that they had fallen asleep tangled in each other’s arms on his bed. They don’t wake even as evening comes, even as Bucky comes in to call them for dinner, only to find them fast asleep holding each other tight, her face buried in his chest and his buried in her hair. Bucky just lets out a soft chuckle, grabbing the blanket discarded on the foot of the bed and draping it over them, and he later comes back to bring Natasha’s duffle bag up to his room.

“You got the spare room back,” Bucky announces to Sam as he looks up, his eyebrows furrowed when Bucky comes back alone, without the two. “And don’t expect them to detach themselves from each other as well.”

Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “Guess they’re missing dinner too?” he asks, and Bucky hums, a wide smile forming on his lips.

“Fortunately, more for us.” he says, and Sam laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, very sorry for the inconsistent updates! just been very busy lately with some stuff. :) but put down below any prompts you can think of! i write them down and put it in my masterfile, and i go back to them when the wave of creativity hits me.
> 
> also, check out my other works in my profile! i have a new AU up called "what if?" so check that one out too!


	58. Black Widow's Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 58\. Sarah hears and reacts to how other people see her mother.
> 
> "She meets her brother’s gaze and purses her lips together. “D’you know why I don’t like hearing about the things the Black Widow did? All her crimes, all the stories? All the things about her past?”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is gonna be more james and sarah-centric and very few stevenat, but they're still here in this chapter! a follow-up of sorts from chapter 16 of this work, but on sarah's perspective. enjoy!

“Hello?”

“Jamie?” His sister’s voice sounds soft, almost uncertain, that he furrows his eyebrows slightly in confusion and concern. “You free?”

“Y-yeah, I am,” James says, turning to look for a nearby clock and finding one hanging above the training room entrance. It’s three in the afternoon on a Friday, and if he recalls correctly (based on what she had told him days prior, and upon memorizing her class schedule just because  _ she _ made him do so), she’s supposed to be in class today, with her next break supposedly at 3:30. “Why? What’s up?”

“I’m going home, and I need you to pick me up,” she says. “But don’t tell Mom and Dad.”

“What? Why?” he asks. James then frowns at this, eyebrows knitting in confusion as he looks at Morgan beside him, looking at him with a confused and concerned expression on her face. He shakes his head and excuses himself, stepping out of the training room and closing the door behind him.

“James…”

“Sarah, is there something wrong? Did something happen?” he asks, his other fist clenching at his side, as if bracing himself for whatever it is his sister will respond, and readying himself if the need to fight and defend her arises.

“N-no,  _ no, _ Jamie, I’m not hurt, I-I’m fine,” she says, and James hears a bit of shuffling on the other end of the line, and a zipper line closing—must’ve been  _ her _ packing, getting ready for her to be picked up by her brother. “I just...come by here, okay? Drive by my dorm, and I’ll explain, I promise. There’s...there’s no danger—”

“Then why won’t you let me tell Mom and Dad?”

_ “James.” _ Sarah practically pleads over the phone, and James sighs, running his fingers through his hair as he looks left and right at the hall where the training rooms are, as if looking for any sign of either of his parents, or  _ anybody _ at all. It’s  _ really _ not that he doesn’t want to pick his sister up, he  _ does, _ he really does, and he misses her so dearly since she rarely comes home anymore since entering Juilliard. But he doesn’t ever remember his sister coming home and  _ not _ telling their parents about it, much less hearing from her like this—pleading for him to pick her up when she’d always just take the train when she’d go home.

There’s something fishy. Something alarming. Something he  _ needs _ to know.

“Alright,” James tells his sister with a sigh, and he hears Sarah let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll...look, give me twenty, okay? I’ll have to escape my way out of this Compound with a car without having to alert Mom or Dad.”

“Ask a favor from Morgan or the Bartons. You have fifteen,” Sarah tells him, and James scowls, even though she won’t see him.  _ Little sisters. _ “See you in my dorm. Love ya.”

“Back at’cha.” James mutters, sighing as he hangs up and tucks his phone inside the pockets of his pants. He takes a moment to breathe, come up with an excuse or  _ anything _ at all that he’ll tell Lila, and possibly tell his parents (should he encounter them. God forbid he’d see his  _ mother, _ who can easily see right through him when he lies).

James comes back in the training room and whispers to Lila of the situation—Sarah is on the phone, sounding quite upset yet urgent, and he needs to pick her up without letting anybody know. He leaves the trainees to her, as Lila nods understandingly, telling him to shoot her a text once he’s with Sarah, also worried for her friend as well. James makes his way down to the garage, having met no trouble, and having texted Morgan as well to stall his parents as much as she can, after finding out they were visiting and training the team she is handling. Morgan sends him a thumbs-up, followed by a text that tells Steve of the same request Lila had.

And so James drives his way from the Compound to Juilliard, getting there at  _ exactly _ ten minutes. He spots Sarah in front of the dormitory building, and she immediately picks up her duffel bag beside her. James opens the trunk as she quickly puts her bag in, closing it and getting inside the car.

“You okay?” James asks, once Sarah settles and puts her seatbelt on as she nods. She seems fine, James notes, but her facial expression might say otherwise, the worry lines evident on her face as well as the slight crease between her brows, as if in contemplation.

“Tavern on the Green?” Sarah asks, and James frowns in confusion, raising an eyebrow at his sister as she sighs. “My treat, and I promise I’ll talk.”

“Well, I think it’s better you start talking on our way there,” he says, pulling away from the gutter and driving to their usual hangout place in Central Park. “Just give me anything. Did someone hurt you?”

“No, it’s…” she trails off and sighs, looking away for a moment at the window before turning her head to look at her brother. “You know more things about Mom’s past, right?”

James’ eyes flicker over at his sister for a moment, before turning his eyes back on the road. “Probably a lot more than you, definitely less than Dad does,” he answers with a slight shrug. “Why?”

“Vera Plisetskaya was a Bolshoi ballet dancer in the ‘90s,” Sarah begins to say, looking straight ahead at the road as James purses his lips together. “She was a famous dancer, working for the Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko Moscow Music Theatre before she was eventually absorbed in the Bolshoi and quickly became their principal dancer. She was Odette in Swan Lake, her final season in the Bolshoi.”

Sarah looks over at her brother who clenches his jaw and she frowns slightly at him, as she proceeds. “But on record, Plisetskaya completed her season performing Swan Lake, and weird things began happening in the theatre throughout her season. Some of the ensemble went missing—later found dead—and they had to find replacements quickly, and they found a pattern,” she continues, and James turns a corner leading to the vicinity of Central Park. “Surviving ensemble members said those who went missing were involved with Plisetskaya, and so considered her a suspect. She went missing for two years, and the weird thing was that the KGB was never involved in the case.”

Sarah’s chin quivers, her heart beating fast against her chest as she takes a shaky breath. James hasn’t said a word, so she doesn’t have an idea if he was familiar with the case or not, if he’s heard it for the first time or not. Though her wild guess would be that James already knows of the case, and is merely waiting for her to proceed with whatever reason she was bringing this delicate topic up.

“In 1999, they found Plisetskaya’s remains in the backstage of the Bolshoi Theatre, found by one of the stage managers. They didn’t know it was her, because all that’s left were the skull and the rest of her bones, but the forensics confirmed so,” Sarah pauses and clenches her jaw, looking back at the road in front of her. “She’d been dead since 1997. Their principal dancer playing Odette wasn’t Plisetskaya, and all those who went missing alongside her weren’t involved with Plisetskaya, per se, but were affiliated with enemies of the Kremlin—family members working against the KGB, and the impostor was eliminating them one by one.”

James parks by the curb in front of the restaurant, turning the engine off as he swallows the lump in his throat and turns his head to look at his sister. Her eyes are glassy and wide, looking over at her brother, as if pleading him to speak, tell her something,  _ anything _ at all, but he lets her proceed nonetheless. “Eliminated ensemble dancers were around twenty, half of them were never found anymore. The  _ true _ suspect?” She pauses, the corners of her mouth quirking downwards. “The KGB’s own Black Widow.”

James takes a deep breath and releases it, pursing his lips together as he looks away from her momentarily. He rubs his lips together in contemplation, feeling the weight of his sister’s stare on him. He looks back at her and gives her a small nod. “I’ll pay for Tavern,” he says quietly. “We’ll talk more inside.”

Luckily, both are dressed properly to be permitted inside the restaurant. It isn’t quite full yet at this hour, and so the two siblings are able to get a booth on the far end of the restaurant. They both order their meals, and Sarah faces James again who sighs and takes his phone out, pressing a button to find no messages or calls. He shakes his head and looks up at his sister. “Mom and Dad might call and look for me.” he says.

“Then make it quick.” Sarah tells him quietly. James purses his lips, resting his elbows on the edge of the table and leaning forward.

“Where did you learn all of this?” he asks. “About Plisetskaya, about...what happened in Bolshoi in 1997?”

“So you  _ do _ know,” Sarah says, furrowing her eyebrows as James sighs. “Elective. We discussed Russian Ballet. We discussed dancers. Plisetsakaya was good, and she was one of the best Bolshoi dancers.”

Sarah sighs and looks away momentarily. James clenches his jaw and hangs his head low. He  _ does _ know. He knows about the infamous Bolshoi massacre in 1997, where the Black Widow had been responsible for impersonating their female lead and eliminating much of the ensemble cast. He knows about it, because it's where their mother had learned ballet—through impersonation and several brainwashing and rewiring in her brain. It was one of the _many_ stories he hoped Sarah would never hear, and yet out of all the things she could hear about their mother, it was _that_ sort of story. He felt lucky, he supposes, that she doesn't know about that _one_ delicate detail. Apart from that, though, Sarah had been wrong as well on some details and aspects of the story. The entire thing was worse than what she was taught, the casualties  _ much _ higher in reality than on official records, as the KGB made sure to tamper with the official records to allow the situation to die down and slip from the public’s eye.

It was one of the  _ worst _ crimes committed by the Black Widow, committed by the previous persona of their mother.

“Look, James, I…” Sarah sighs and trails off, running her fingers through her hair and looking away. She huffs out a breath and shakes her head. “I just…” She purses her lips and shuts her eyes tight for a moment, hanging her head low, her fists clenched on the table.

James nods and swallows down his throat. In her eighteen years of living, Sarah had never been one to hear, listen and delve on whatever the Black Widow had done before. She refuses to do so. She doesn’t  _ like _ hearing about them at all. She would always refuse to listen to these stories, and even if it was a story their mother herself would be willing to tell, she would blatantly yet (somehow) politely turn them down, refusing to hear any of these Black Widow stories during her time with the KGB.

“Did your instructor know?” James asks quietly, and Sarah looks back at him, her green eyes—that of which mirrors their mother’s—glassy and wide, filling with tears as she bites her bottom lip. It breaks James’ heart, of course, to see his sister this way, but he can’t fully determine and tell what he feels without hearing what  _ she _ feels about it, without hearing Sarah’s side on why this was suddenly brought up to him as if it’s a big deal.

Though, for him, it isn’t a huge deal at all. For her, however, it  _ is. _

“That she was talking about  _ my _ mother’s past? Yeah,” Sarah says with a quiet scoff in the end, and she shakes her head and looks away. “She asked me if she ever told me about it, asked if I knew what she did.” Sarah sighs and shakes her head again. “She’s of Russian descent too, related to one of the ensemble members that had been killed off. I’d understand if she’d fail me in this class, you know?”

“That’s unfair,” James says, shaking his head vehemently, his fists on the table clenching tightly as he frowns deeply and Sarah sighs and shakes her head at her brother. “What happened wasn’t your fault...and it wasn’t Mom’s either.”

Sarah purses her lips and shakes her head slightly. “That’s not how they see it, James,” she tells him quietly, and James frowns slightly, eyebrows furrowing in worry, heart beating fast and hard against his chest. He’s worried about the next words she’ll say, worried about what she’s  _ trying _ to tell him. Sarah seems to sense this, and she meets her brother’s gaze, inching her hand closer towards her brother’s as she shakes her head. “I’m not blaming Mom, James. You know how I feel about Mom, how  _ I _ am with Mom, and none of that’s gonna change.”

That fixes a part of the problem, at least.

“Are you worried about failing, then?” he asks softly. “Look, we can do something about it. Report to the office, pull some strings...you can transfer schools—”

“No, it’s…” Sarah shakes her head. “I don’t wanna transfer, and...I don’t wanna be involved in some mess with the admin—”

“Your instructor’s unfair. She can’t treat you harshly because of it—”

“She wasn’t, she…” Sarah sighs and shakes her head, pursing her lips together and leaning back in her booth. Their food and drinks are served, and the two siblings nod in thanks to the waitress. “Look, with the instructor, we...we spoke a bit after. I-it wasn’t...it wasn’t bad, but I don’t think it’s  _ really _ good either. It wasn’t all  _ that _ big of an issue as well with the others...with my classmates and friends—well,  _ most _ of them, but...” She shakes her head and huffs out a breath. “But that’s...that’s not the point, I just…” She meets her brother’s gaze and purses her lips together. “D’you know why I don’t like hearing about the things the Black Widow did? All her crimes, all the stories? All the things about her past?”

James shakes his head. He doesn’t, and he never dared to ask because she always gets upset whenever she has to turn down a story from their Mom. He’s confident, however, with Sarah’s words about how hearing one story about the Black Widow wouldn’t change how she looks at their mother. Nevertheless, he hasn’t had any idea on why she still refuses to do so.

“I love Mom. I look up to her and I...I admire her and I  _ love _ her, and there’s no doubt about that,” Sarah tells him softly. “But hearing stories about how, once upon a time, she was a  _ whole _ other person you don’t recognize? And how she was a different person because of the  _ things _ they did to her, and the things they made her do?” Sarah shakes her head, her bottom lip shaking as more tears fill her eyes. “How...how do you  _ deal _ with that? How do you...how could you  _ not _ feel angry? Feel mad about the things they did to her, and feel mad about making her into something she never wanted to become in the first place?”

Oh. _Oh._

“I  _ know _ about the things she did, and I  _ knew _ who she was, and I never...I never let it define her, you know? I never let it change how I see Mom, and I  _ hate _ how some people...with just  _ one _ story they hear about her that was about her past, they’re quick to forget how good she is, how she’s made up for it by being an Avenger, by settling down, having a family, and being a part of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Sarah continues, a tear rolling down her face as she wipes it quickly with the back of her hand as she sniffles and shakes her head. “You won’t even wanna hear about the things the others were saying about Mom. Like I wasn’t  _ there _ listening and hearing the things they’re calling  _ my _ mother.”

James knows. James knows those words, has heard them plenty of times, some of which at a young age, even before Sarah was born.

“Is that why you left? Wanted to go home?” James asks, and Sarah nods, not looking up to meet her brother’s eyes, and not even budging the food and drinks on their table either. “You won’t miss any rehearsals?”

Sarah shakes her head. “I don’t feel like dancing,” she says quietly. “Nikki knows I left, and she promised me she’ll teach me the things I’ll miss,”  _ Nikki, _ her roommate and close friend, and from what James can perceive, she’s not one of those people who see their mother as a threat. James nods at this, and Sarah sighs. “I just needed to let it out before we go home...before I see Mom.” She lets out a soft chuckle as she ducks her head. “I feel like I’ll start crying when I see her.”

James smiles slightly at that. “She won’t care about what people—what your instructor and classmates said about her, you know?” he tells her gently. “She’ll only care about what  _ you _ think, and if you say that how you see Mom and how you feel about Mom are still the same, then you won’t hurt her.” He smiles at her sister gently. “No harm will be done.”

“Yeah, but _I_ care,” Sarah tells her brother. “I care about what people say about Mom, and...and I know I shouldn’t, and you’re gonna tell me that I shouldn’t, the same way both Mom and Dad will too, but I _do._ _I_ care about what they say and how they see Mom.”

She shakes her head and looks away momentarily to release a breath before looking back at her brother. “I want others...I want  _ them _ to see the way  _ I _ see Mom—to see her as good, to see her as one of the  _ best, _ the most admirable woman and the superhero that she is, and it’s just...I’m so  _ sick _ of people just disregarding everything that she had done, that she had sacrificed just because she committed mistakes in the past. And I’m  _ so _ sick of people thinking that how I feel about Mom is jaded and untrue, thinking I don’t know about the things she had done in the past, like I’m someone  _ oblivious _ and stupid about  _ my _ own mother!” Sarah’s voice breaks in the end as she shakes her head, the corners of her mouth quirking downwards as she shakes her head, more tears flowing down from her eyes. “They talk about her like they know her. Like  _ they _ hadn’t been affected when the Avengers are too busy saving their asses from people and things that could literally  _ kill _ them. They talk about her like  _ all _ she ever is, and all she ever  _ will _ be, is the KGB’s Black Widow, and I _ know _ she doesn’t care about all of these, but  _ I _ do.” She pauses and clenches her jaw. “And you’d be lying to me if you would start telling me you don’t care about it either.”

James sighs and looks down at his hands on the table. He clasps them together, rubs his hands and purses his lips together. He takes a moment for himself, organizing his thoughts in his head to be able to properly communicate better with his sister. “Look, I…” he trails off and shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows as if erasing  _ that _ thought in his head. “The first time I heard someone talk...well, talk shit about Mom was when I was four years old. I was with Dad, we were in the cafeteria, and there were...a few trainees there huddled together. They were talking about a mishap during training, and one of the trainees...she said things about Mom that were…” James shakes his head. “They were things I didn’t know of yet, some of which I never understood before, but still I was old enough to know they were mean, nonetheless.”

_ The Black Widow is a murderous whore who enjoys nothing more than sex and murder. _

_ I’d hate to be the Black Widow’s kid, and Captain America deserves more and better. _

James doesn’t think he’ll ever forget about that moment, much less those lines which infuriated his father and upsetted him so much he started crying. He never understood the first one all that much before, not until he was old enough to understand the context of the statement, and all the more he found the statement so offensive.

It also wasn’t the last time he’d heard of things about his mother. Even as he became a trainee years ago, he’d hear his mother’s name being included in locker room talks, would even hear some lines that were the same as Perez’s line all those years ago. Those moments had been rare, of course. Nevertheless, it would still arise, and it would still reach James’ ears. At first, he dealt with them with fights and fisticuffs, leading to him getting in trouble (which was a difficult thing, considering the supervisors on the topmost of S.H.I.E.L.D. include his parents), but over time, he had learned to let it slip, and  _ not _ deal with it, even though every inch of him _wanted_ so badly to deal with it, despite Morgan, his parents, aunts and uncles telling him not to anymore.

He  _ had _ to accept that people will see his mother in a terrible light, much like how some people also view his father, and the rest of the Avengers, in such a terrible light too, because if he  _ doesn’t _ accept it, for sure it will drive him terribly nuts. But it doesn’t mean he feels any less bad about it all, doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel angry or upset hearing bad things about them, so much so that he would get involved in fights again, even as he is one of the superior officers in S.H.I.E.L.D. now.

“You know how the world is. I’d still hear these kinds of things more often than not, if not about Mom, it’s about Dad, or about Morgan, about...anyone in the original Avengers, really,” he says with a shake of his head. “And you’re right. I’d be lying if I tell you I don’t feel the same way you do now, because I  _ do _ feel all the exact things you said earlier—about the anger, the confusion of why  _ they _ couldn’t see Mom the way I see her, and the urge to just...shove everything Mom did for them, tell them that if there’s anyone here who owes something, it’s  _ them _ who owes Mom something, because she had been one of the people who continually risks her life just to save their asses. They don’t even know it, you know?”

Sarah nods in agreement as she sniffles and just leans forward, her elbows resting on the edge of the table. “Now we know how Dad feels too,” she says quietly. “Though I’m sure what he feels...it’s bigger than what  _ we _ feel.”

“Significantly bigger,” James says with a nod. “I don’t think he got used to it either, you know? What they say about Mom and stuff.” He shakes his head. “No one would ever get used to it—hearing those things about the person you love, especially hearing how people who don’t know the full story actually believe in the lies and rumors. And like I said, they act as if she hadn’t saved their asses more than once in their lifetime.”

James gives her a crooked smile, and Sarah lets out a chuckle as she nods, and James continues. “You’ll get mad, too, because of how much Mom doesn’t care, and how much she asks you to  _ not _ care at all, too. But it’ll feel like she’s asking for too much, asking for  _ you _ to stop loving and caring for her so much, and why  _ would _ you? She’s  _ our _ Mom, and she’s the most amazing woman there is,” he says, and Sarah nods solemnly as she purses her lips and ducks her head. “But...you kno, she always tells me I’ll have to let it go because it’ll drive me nuts. It’s what she tells Dad too, saying that with the amount of people talking shit about her everyday, you know?”

“That’s kinda sad, especially since  _ she _ herself knows.” Sarah points out, and James nods.

“She’s not oblivious, and she’s not insensitive to what others think about her,” James tells Sarah, who picks up a fry from their tray laid on the table as she munches it slowly. “She’s just indifferent. I’m sure she  _ wasn’t, _ at first, as I’m sure you’ve heard Dad’s stories on how they started out as a couple.” Sarah hums and nods, the corner of her lips quirking into a small smile. “What she’s  _ not _ indifferent about is you,  _ us _ hearing these stories and how we react on it.”

Sarah shakes her head. “It doesn’t change how I feel about Mom,” she says confidently and firmly, and James nods. “It just...it makes me upset, you know?” She shakes her head. “How people see Mom, and...and what Mom went through.” She looks up at her brother and gives him a sad smile. “She went through a lot, you know? And I don’t know how this will sound, but...I don’t recognize  _ that _ person on the official KGB records. She’s not the Black Widow I know. She’s not  _ my _ Mom.”

James nods, giving his sister a gentle smile as he takes a deep breath and grabs a handful of fries. He understands. The “Black Widow” title doesn’t instill fear in his heart anymore, as well, unlike how it may have instilled fear in others way before during the time when she must have still been with the KGB. She doesn’t terrify him, nor does she scare him away. He’s heard stories of her, stories which he’s sure Sarah hasn’t heard of completely as well, and even so, he likes to believe that though the KGB’s Black Widow and the Avengers’ Black Widow is just the same human being, she has grown and changed over time for the better, for her to live a good and better life.

Even if the others don’t necessarily see that as well.

“Mom’s better for sure, like a  _ thousand _ percent better,” James says, and Sarah chuckles softly as she nods and James smiles. “Feelin’ a bit better now?”

Sarah nods and smiles gently at her brother. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she says softly. “I think I’ll feel better when I see Mom, and when I hug her real tight and stuff.”

“Both she and Dad will be absolutely  _ thrilled _ to see you back,” James says with a nod. “You gonna tell Mom about it?”

Sarah smirks at her brother. “It’s not like I can keep  _ anything _ from Mom,” she says, and James chuckles, shrugging as he munches again on another handful of fries. Sarah picks up a fork and starts picking on the fish. “Though...I think I might tell Dad first, you know? Then...ask him some stuff about it, and...process it more with him.” She gives him a wry smile. “Now I’m starting to regret turning down Mom’s stories before. Look at the way I'm reacting to it now.”

James chuckles and shakes his head again. “Like I said, you won’t ever get used to it,” he says. “Not even if you hear these stories over and over again. You won’t get used to it.”

Sarah purses her lips and nods. “I know.” she whispers.

She’s not trying to get over it, because James is right, she probably never  _ will _ get over it—what people said about her mother, how wrong they had been, and the anger she felt on her behalf just hearing these horrible words thrown at her. She isn’t trying to defend the Black Widow’s actions. She isn’t at all trying to say that what she did was reasonable, because it’s not, and that’s the  _ thing. _ The woman who had done all those things wasn’t on her own  _ reason, _ wasn’t able to think for herself and act for herself, and they didn’t know that.

But like James says, if she tries to make others believe the same thing she does, it’ll only drive her nuts.

James changes the subject after a few moments, asking Sarah about school and her other friends she’d already introduced to him before. He asks about David, about Nikki, about her other classes and about her other friends who had gone to other universities too. They stay for about an hour or so, leaving upon James receiving a text from their father on where he is.

“You ready to go home?” James asks, pulling out a few bills as Sarah smirks and nods. “The next time you do this stint, you’ll be paying for real.”

“I’ll do my best.” she teases, and James rolls his eyes as they slip out of their booth and on to the car, where they drive back home safely to the Compound.

The first thing Sarah does, upon reaching their floor and seeing both of their parents already there, is to drop all her things to throw herself in her mother’s embrace. She embraces her tightly, and Natasha embraces her back as well, squeezing her tightly and pressing a kiss on the side of her head, murmuring how she didn’t call to say she was coming home, and asking about rehearsals. But Sarah just shakes her head in every inquiry she may have on her surprise homecoming, only embracing her even tighter than she possibly could.

James smiles, and looks back up at Steve who watches his girls with a gentle smile on his face. Steve looks back at him and regards him for a moment, before wrapping an arm around his shoulder to pull his son closer to him. James chuckles when Steve musses his hair gently. “Is it David?” he asks in a low and soft voice, and James laughs and shakes his head.

Of course his father could tell if there’s something wrong with his favorite little girl.

“Nah, they’re good,” he says, and Steve quirks his lips to the side as James chuckles. “She’ll tell you. She’ll tell you first. She told me she’ll tell you.” Steve hums and nods, looking back at Natasha and Sarah who are both still hugging and embracing each other tightly. There’s no hint of confusion in Natasha’s eyes, just pure peace and bliss, embracing her daughter tightly in her arms, having spent several  _ weeks _ without being able to gather her in her arms.

“You know already.” Steve says, looking down at his son with a proud smile on his face, as James nods and smiles widely up at his father. It’s not a question, with the way he says it, as if he’d said a plain fact, stating something that he sees is obvious.

“‘Course I do,” James says teasingly, yet Steve senses the sincerity in his tone as he chuckles, and rubs his son’s arm up and down. “I’m the best brother in the  _ history _ of brothers.”

Steve laughs softly and nods, looking back at Sarah and Natasha who have just pulled away from each other. Natasha cups Sarah’s face, as the eighteen-year-old just smiles at her mother, eyes glassy and her smile wide, as if unable to keep it off of her face. He figures (if his hunch is correct), if not for whatever James had done, she wouldn’t have that smile on her face, and would instead have tears just continually streaming down her face.

“That, you are, indeed.” Steve says softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, reviews and kudos!


	59. Black Widow's Daughter (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 59\. Steve and Sarah's conversation.
> 
> "“The Red Room, the KGB, the Bolshoi and everything that happened to it be damned. She only focused on how you saw her as a dancer, and that’s one of the reasons she has loved dancing even more ever since.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short follow-up from the previous chapter, as requested by many. it's short but sweet, and hopefully you'll like it. :)

Sitting on the bench of their floor’s balcony, Sarah looks up and watches as her father clenches his jaw and releases a long breath. He nods slowly, pursing his lips in contemplation as he looks back to find James and Natasha preparing for dinner in the kitchen. Sarah looks back, too, and she finds her brother laughing and talking while her mother laughs loudly and heartily, like how she usually does whenever James makes a joke. He likes doing that to her, and Sarah finds that James especially  _ loves _ doing that after a hard day, or after he’s encountered something tough.

In this case, perhaps, he’s encountered Sarah knowing about the Bolshoi massacre. It’s apparently one of the worst things the Black Widow had done, and it’s one of the things her family agreed on to not let Sarah know in any way, once she made it clear to them how she’s not interested in diving deeper in any of the Black Widow stories.

Sucks to know it’s one of the first she knew about in detail.

“What would you tell Mom?” he asks, and Sarah looks back at her father, looking at her with his usual gentle gaze. “If you were to tell her now, and you said you  _ want _ to tell her...how would you say it?”

_ How would she say it? _ How  _ could _ she say it? How does one arrange words that basically have the meaning of ‘I know what you did’ in a nice and respectful way?

“I don’t know, Dad,” Sarah responds quietly, and Steve sighs, lifting a hand to rub her back gently and soothingly. Sarah gives him a small smile before looking back down at her hands resting on her lap. “It’s not like I don’t even know  _ why _ I wanna say it...or what I wanna get when I tell her so. I just...she’s  _ Mom, _ you know? And I tell Mom everything, so…” She shrugs, and Steve nods in understanding.

“What are your worries, then? Before telling her?” Steve asks, and Sarah looks back up at him. “Like you said, she’s Mom. Why are you so worried about telling her when you always tell her everything?”

“Because you said this is one of the things you guys don’t want me to know,” she responds, frowning slightly as she shakes her head and sighs. “I’ve been telling her for  _ years _ how I’ve always wanted to be like her, for me to be a dancer like her, and...and to find out that she became a dancer because she was...she was  _ brainwashed, _ tortured and literally wired to do it, it’s…” She huffs out a breath and looks up at the window in front of them, at the view of the Manhattan skyline from their floor. “I didn’t know I was basically...basically making her revisit how she got those skills in the first place when I persuaded her to teach me ballet since I was a kid.”

She still remembers that day, of course. She had been four during that time, and she was watching her mother dancing in their studio on their floor, just watching her dance gracefully and smoothly, her eyes closed and expression peaceful as she danced along with the music. She remembers the serenity on her face, the  _ peace _ she finds in dancing. It’s ironic, the way Sarah views it now, how her mother found peace in one of the worst experiences in her life.

“She never told me how she learned how to dance,” she continues quietly and shakes her head. “And I...I  _ made _ her teach me how to dance everyday, and I didn’t...I didn’t know if…” she trails off, and Steve sighs and nods again in understanding.

“You didn’t know if you were forcing her to remember how  _ they _ put all of those in her head,” Steve continues quietly, as Sarah nods. “It’s like you’re making her remember false memories...those that aren’t hers to begin with, and merely...forced in from somebody else.”

_ Somebody else she killed. _

“Did she…did she ever talk about it? With you?” Sarah asks, looking back up to meet her father’s gaze.

“What happened in the Bolshoi?” he asks, and Sarah nods. “Well, she mentioned it  _ once _ in passing, when I asked her when and how she learned how to dance. We were still just friends at the time, haven’t started dating yet and stuff, but...yeah, she mentioned about what happened, about the mission, etcetera.” The corner of Steve’s lips quirk upwards slightly into a small smile as he looks back down at his lap. “I remember expecting her to tell me it was one of their basic training in the Red Room, the  _ actual _ stuff that they did to them. Turns out it  _ was, _ but only for a brief amount of time. Your mother stood out from the rest since the beginning of her training, and it included how she stood out even from the briefest amounts of their ballet training, like the natural dancer she is. Eventually, the Red Room became impatient with training, and, well…” Steve shrugs. “I suppose you know the rest.”

She does. Plisetskaya’s reflex and muscle memory was embedded in Natasha’s mind—with some freaky science the Soviets and the KGB had—thus allowing her to dance like how Plisetskaya did, and even  _ better. _

“She never said,” Sarah says quietly, shaking her head and feeling her heart ache inside her chest. She feels a heavy weight set inside her, the guilt of  _ not _ knowing and refusing to know finally settling down inside her chest and stomping her so heavily. “She never said those things to me.”

Steve shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. Not if she sees and she  _ knows _ how much dancing means a lot to you.” he says, and Sarah shakes her head again.

“Dancing meant a lot to me because I saw how it meant a whole deal to Mom,” she tells her father, meeting his gaze again. “I wanted to be like  _ Mom, _ Dad, I wanted to be like her which was why I wanted to be a dancer. The...the feelings I have towards dancing, it came after, but the primary reason why I was drawn to dancing was because  _ Mom _ was. It’s basically like how Jamie wants to be  _ like _ you, like the next Captain America, you know?” Steve purses his lips slightly, letting out a small, almost reflexive smile. “It’s...it’s basically like that. I  _ loved _ dancing because I thought...I thought Mom  _ loves  _ it.”

“She does.”

“How  _ could _ she?” Sarah asks. “She was tortured to  _ learn _ how to dance.”

“It didn’t stop her from liking dancing, still,” Steve points out gently, and Sarah lets out a huff of breath. Steve smiles gently and inches himself closer to his daughter, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close towards him. Sarah sighs and rests her head on his shoulder. “I remember that day you told Mom you wanted to be like her. You caught her dancing in the studio, right? When you were four years old, you heard music coming from the dance studio and decided to take a peek...and then you saw her.”

Sarah nods against her father’s shoulder as Steve smiles. He might not have been present when the whole scene unfolded, but he’d definitely heard of the story of it that same evening when he and Natasha had gone to bed. He remembers the conversation they had too, how it was one of the most beautiful conversations they’ve ever had in the entirety of their relationship and marriage. He pauses and thinks to himself whether he should tell their daughter about it, figuring how he prefers to have some of these beautiful conversations to be between the two of them only, but figures sharing even a  _ portion _ of it might help her feel better in this situation.

“You were four years old, and you happened upon your Mommy dancing in her dance studio one lazy afternoon. You watched, and you told her you wanted to be like her,” Steve says, and Sarah nods. “You were four years old. You knew nothing about the Black Widow, knew nothing of the superhero life yet during that time. You just know...that Mommy is your Mommy, and she’s a great dancer.” Steve gives his daughter a gentle smile. “It’s what you saw that day, right? That made you want to say you wanted to be like her?”

Sarah nods, and Steve hums and smiles. “If there’s one thing you need to keep in mind about Mom, sweetie, is that she doesn’t really care about how other people perceive her. She  _ never _ had, even when we started dating,” he says, meeting his daughter’s gaze, his smile widening. “But when she became a Mom, you two became the  _ only _ people she considers whose thoughts since the beginning of your life would matter to her. How you see her, how you feel about her, it means the  _ world _ to her, and the rest of the universe outside of this family be damned. So on  _ that _ day when you told her you wanted to be just like her just because you saw her dance?” Sarah tilts her head slightly to the side, squinting her eyes as the wind rushes by them. Steve lifts a hand to brush off some of her hair away from her face. “How she used dance as a weapon before, and  _ how _ she learned how to dance, none of those mattered. Especially the moment  _ you _ saw it as one of the best things about her,  _ she _ started considering it as one of the best things about her. The moment  _ you _ saw the good of dancing in Mom, she  _ immediately _ saw the good in dancing in her too.” Steve smiles. “The Red Room, the KGB, the Bolshoi and everything that happened to it be damned. She only focused on how  _ you _ saw her as a dancer, and that’s one of the reasons she has loved dancing even more ever since.”

Sarah’s eyes widen slightly, feeling the corners of her eyes stinging and the weight in her chest lifting.  _ The moment you saw it as one of the best things about her, she started considering it as one of the best things about her. _ How she saw her that  _ one _ day when she had been four mattered to her. It  _ mattered, _ so much so that it was enough for her to disregard one of the most horrible things that happened in her past associated with dancing, and be replaced with a new and albeit mundane one (at least for Sarah).

It  _ mattered, _ and it meant the  _ world _ to her.

“Has there...has there ever been a moment Mom hated dancing?” she asks sheepishly, and Steve looks ahead at the skyline in front of them for a moment of contemplation.

“Not since I’ve known her. I think by that time that we’ve met, she’d learned enough to convert the skills taught to her by the Red Room into something to her advantage—combat and espionage, and of course, dancing,” Steve answers, and Sarah nods. “I think she likes it to the extent that she uses it as a hobby more than a weapon, something that helps ease her mind and helps her relax.” Steve shakes his head and lets out a chuckle. “I don’t know exactly  _ how _ she managed that, given, well...all the history she had with how she learned to dance, but…” He shrugs, and looks back at his daughter to give her a gentle smile. “That’s Mom, you know?”

That’s her Mom—turning ashes into beauty, using her weakness to turn it into her strength and to her advantage. She amazes Sarah in absolutely  _ all _ aspects in life, but  _ this _ is definitely one of the best things Sarah has always known about her mother.

The corner of Sarah’s mouth quirk upwards into a small smile. Ever since she was a kid, she had always thought the  _ world _ of her mother, and growing up, she had always looked up to her as an inspiration and a role model. She knows how much her mother loves and adores her too, most likely even  _ more _ than how Sarah loves and adores her, but it’s an even bigger and more extraordinary feeling to hear how even at such a young age, she had managed to change how her mother perceives something, how  _ she _ helped in making something that’s bad in her mother’s past become something good in the present.

And to think  _ none _ of it had been intentional at all, considering she was merely a four-year-old girl who just wanted to look for her Mommy to play with her.

_ Mommy, I wanna be like you when I grow up! _

With just those words,  _ she _ managed to turn her mother’s perspective around.

Sarah shakes her head lightly and fondly, all other thoughts looming inside her head simply leaving and vanishing for the moment, if only she could revel in this newfound feeling and knowledge. “She’s amazing, you know?” she tells her father softly, a wide smile forming on her lips as he gives her back a bright and knowing smile.

“Yeah, sweetie, I know,” he responds softly, and his smile widens. “It’s why I married her and had kids with her.”

Sarah chuckles softly and nudges her father’s arm with her shoulder. “You’re great too, you know?” she teases, and Steve laughs softly, leaning to press a kiss over her head as she hums and smiles up at him. “It’s why she married you, and had kids with you.  _ Two _ amazing and great kids, at that!”

Her father’s smile shifts into a softer and prouder one, one that she’d seen so many times in her life already, yet has  _ never _ at all failed to make her heart still flutter and swell with confidence, pride and assurance, as if she can feel how he feels  _ all _ of those towards her just by the smile he gives her. He rubs her arm comfortingly, and she smiles and rests her head on his shoulder as she inches herself closer towards him.

“That I definitely _can't_ deny,” Steve says softly, resting his cheek on her head as she lets out a soft laugh, with it being the final sound before a comfortable silence falls upon them. After a few moments, Steve lifts his head again to look down at his daughter, who just stays put in her position. “You feelin’ better now?” he asks.

It will take her a long time to get over the knowledge of the full story of the horrors her mother had gone through, especially knowing that there are far  _ worse _ things she had gone through apart from the one she knows. If she was being honest, she probably never would, and she wouldn’t  _ want _ to, because whether these stories are ugly or not, it’s part of her mother’s past. It’s part of the reason why she became the woman she is today, why she became the mother she is today.

She would never get over it, but she supposes that maybe for now, she could let it go for a while.

Sarah supposes what matters more now is the woman she had become—the woman Sarah had come to know as her mother, and how she continues to be the woman who is beautiful, caring and loving all at once, most especially to her own family. It’s what her mother is focusing on right now, after all, and she supposes it’s only fair for  _ her _ to focus on that, too—looking at her mother as her Mommy, her best friend and personal hero.

“Yeah,” Sarah says softly and nods with a smile. “Yeah, I’m great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, reviews and kudos! next work is from one of the prompts from last chapter's comments so stay tuned!


	60. So Long As You Come Home At the End of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 60\. A short breakup x dog tags x "That Would Be Enough" by Hamilton
> 
> "“And over time, I also know you’ve also learned to love and finally allow yourself to be loved. To finally get over and move past all the things you’ve experienced with love and embrace it once again.” He pauses and furrows his eyebrows together almost worriedly, and continues with a quieter tone. “Nat, Steve isn’t Ivan. Nor is he Nikolai, nor Barnes.”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter takes inspiration from several of steveandnatlover's prompts about being afraid of close commitment and about the dog tags. i sort of misread these prompts and couldnt remember nor find the complete prompts on the comments when i first started writing the chapter, and when i found it it was already too late :( nonetheless, i hope you'll like this chapter!

All her life, all Natasha had ever known was detachment.

It’s not like she’s one to blame, and it’s not like it’s intentional, either. There was no room for attachment, sentiment and love when she was growing up. She was taught that all of those equated to childishness, and there had  _ never _ been room for her to be a child, even if she really  _ was _ just a child. She knew nothing of families and friendship, knew few about relationships and love, so much so that each and every time she would find herself near those latter two, it would slip away quickly from her hands, just as quickly as it came in, with her barely even noticing it.

From Ivan, to James, to Nikolai...she never thought she could experience some semblance of the kind of love she had for them. “Love”, or whatever she had with them was called. All of it were short-lived,  _ too _ painfully short-lived for her to remember thinking she deserves any of it.

She doesn’t, or maybe she does. She doesn’t know. She feels like she’s too damaged for any more kind of “love” in her life.

She turns when she hears a soft “ding” coming from the elevator behind her, letting out a small smile when Clint limps in towards the communal kitchen where she is. He rubs his eyes and gives her a tired smile, and her eyes train on his bandaged leg as she nods towards it. “You’re able to walk without crutches now?” she asks, and Clint huffs out a chuckle.

“Doing my best. It’s been a week, after all,” he says, and she hums, taking another sip from her tea as she watches Clint release a breath once he reaches the counter. He reaches for a mug and presses the coffee machine on, turning and resting back on the counter as he faces and regards her. “You? You can’t sleep?”

_ Can’t sleep, sure. _ “Out of a lot of things,” she says quietly, the corner of her mouth quirking into a small smirk, one that doesn’t really reach her eyes like how it usually does. “It’s more quiet here than on my floor.”

“You moved back?” he asks, and Natasha stays silent at the question. He nods and purses his lips together. “How does that feel like now?”

Natasha looks back at him and rests back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest as she just looks at him. She lifts a shoulder for a shrug, and shakes her head lightly. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she asks quietly, and Clint hums.

“What’d he say when you moved?” he asks, and Natasha looks away from him and sighs. It shouldn’t really hurt that much, should it? But it did, and it still does, and it’s not like she could do anything about it. “He was already out of the infirmary when you left, right?”

Natasha frowns and looks back at him. “I’m not that big of an asshole to break up with him when he was still a vegetable in the infirmary.” she states flatly, finally saying those  _ two _ words she had always refused to say for the last week, despite actually pushing  _ through _ with the act the previous week. She swallows down her throat and purses her lips when Clint raises an eyebrow at her.

“How long has it been?” he asks, and Natasha wraps her hands around her cup.

“A week? Something like that,” she responds softly, sighing as she looks back up at Clint. “He’s been alright?”

“Well,” Clint says, turning away for a moment to pour some coffee in her mug. “I mean apart from the fact that you broke up with him right  _ after _ a terrible accident in a mission—”

“Clint.” Natasha says in a warning tone, and Clint turns back to look at her, raising an eyebrow as challenging her. She doesn’t say anything, though, and instead looks away from her best friend’s gaze.

“He’s fine, or as fine as he can be,” Clint continues, limping over towards the kitchen island where Natasha is, and takes a seat across her, resting his cup of coffee on the counter in front of him. He regards his best friend, and Natasha looks up to meet his gaze. “You know you never told me...what he did or what happened, that made you wanna break up with him.” Natasha purses her lips together, biting the inside of her cheek in a vain attempt to not let Clint notice the slight quiver on her bottom lip or the tears starting to form in her eyes. “You seemed fine the week before that, like it’ll...really last a lifetime.”

It made her wonder if that’s how other people saw them— _ them _ lasting a lifetime,  _ them _ for the rest of their lives. She recalls a time when  _ she _ herself had thought it to be possible as well. She wonders if Steve had thought of it too, if he  _ believed _ in them lasting a lifetime so much so that what she had done to him last week—breaking up with him, she figures she might as well say it—destroyed him and hurt him, probably  _ more _ than the hurt he acquired during the mission.

She shudders just thinking about it. She wonders how she could let herself be attached to someone as vulnerable to danger and death as him. She wonders how it can be, that all the men he’d ever loved are always in danger of trying each time they were trying to protect her.

It was then she learned about detachment. She  _ had _ learned it, of course, over the past years of her life but she’s relearning. And  _ this _ time, she’s willing to make it come through.

“It might not,” she says quietly, shaking her head slightly as she lets out a sigh, her eyes training down on her half-empty cup of tea. “It...it won’t, I mean I practically  _ broke _ it already, so…”

“Why?”

“You know why,” Natasha tells him with a frown, looking back up to meet his gaze. “You of  _ all _ people know and understand why.”

“No I don’t,” Clint answers in response, shaking his head and putting his mug of coffee back down after taking a sip. “At least I think I don’t. I thought you’ve changed and grown since the time we first met, Tash.”

Natasha narrows her eyes and frowns slightly, furrowing her eyebrows together. “What do you mean by that?” she asks, and Clint shakes his head as he takes another sip from his mug of coffee.

“You’ve changed and grown, became better in terms of decision-making and your moral compass, among many other things, of course,” Clint explains, lifting a shoulder to shrug. “And over time, I also know you’ve also learned to love and finally allow yourself to  _ be _ loved. To finally get over and move past all the things you’ve experienced with love and embrace it once again.” He pauses and furrows his eyebrows together almost worriedly, and continues with a quieter tone. “Nat, Steve isn’t Ivan. Nor is he Nikolai, nor Barnes.”

_ So he does know, of course he does. _

Hearing those four names out loud does something to her. It breaks her heart in pieces, wrenching in every direction possible that it’s painful enough she barely got a hold of the tears forming in her eyes and the bile rising in her throat. Three of them are dead (well, Barnes is obviously  _ not,  _ but he had been presumed dead to her too many times for her to keep track) because of her, and one  _ almost _ died because of her.

How could she go through this  _ again? _ How could subject  _ them _ and  _ herself _ a great deal of suffering of losing a life and a loved one?

“He almost  _ died, _ Clint,” she says through gritted teeth, unwilling to let the tears fall from her eyes as she bit her bottom lip hard. “I was there when his heart stopped and I saw it with  _ my _ own eyes. He almost  _ died.” _

“And what did you do? You broke up with him even after he saved your life?” he asks, and Natasha’s bottom lip quivers as she looks away and leans back in her seat. “He took a bullet for you—”

“I didn’t  _ want _ him to,” she bites back, looking at him with narrowed glassy eyes. He’s not fazed, and he simply stares back at her. “I never asked him to, I didn’t at all  _ want _ him to. He can’t trade his life for mine, there shouldn’t even  _ be _ trading lives!”

“You’re right, there shouldn't be, and nobody asked him to do what he did. It was all  _ his _ call and his choice,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the edge of the counter. “He knew what he was doing. He knew he wanted to save you, it’s why he did it.”

Natasha closes her eyes and lets out a shaky breath, wiping away the tears that fell down from her eyes with the back of her hands.

_ He wanted to save you, it’s why he did it. _

She remembers coming back from a mission and hearing how Ivan, her handler and one of the  _ only _ father figures she’s had in her life, was gone. She remembers hearing the truth several years after—he was killed by the KGB for picking her up, and treating her when the orders were to leave her for dead after a horrible mission gone wrong, a few years before she finally became the full-fledged Black Widow. She found him gone a week after that mission.

She remembers stumbling upon a beaten and almost-dead Winter Soldier in the cryo after they were exposed with their relationship. She remembers hearing how the handlers and heads spoke to each other, overhearing how the Winter Soldier begged for  _ him _ to be put under the cryo so she could become the Black Widow. The next time she encountered him, he didn’t recognize her. She knew right then and there her Winter Soldier had died.

She remembers her Nikolai surrendering to the soldiers and spies out there looking for the both of them when they attempted to escape. She had been pregnant with their daughter, and he promised her a safehouse and a good home a few miles away from the Red Room, where he told her they could live as a family. But then they were caught, and as a vain attempt at a distraction, Nikolai fought and surrendered while he told her to run. She found his remains when she buried their baby girl, and she buried him too, beside her. She marked their graves with two small stones only  _ she _ could understand what it meant.

And finally, she remembers the vivid image of Steve taking the bullets meant for  _ her. _ Those that would for sure kill her. It almost killed him. It  _ did _ kill him for a few seconds. She remembers holding his hand and cradling his head, begging for him not to go, begging for him to stay alive and begging for him to live while he struggled to breathe and open his eyes. She remembers the memories of the three men she had once loved who were all killed because of her, and she remembers telling herself that Steve can’t be the fourth man she had ever loved to die because of her.

She can’t let another one of them die. She  _ can’t _ watch any of them die for  _ her _ sake ever again.

“Every man I’ve ever loved, and  _ every _ man who has loved me, has died,” Natasha says, her voice cracking as she looks back up at Clint. “This isn’t a commitment thing, Clint. This isn’t about  _ me _ finally learning how to love and be loved, this is  _ me _ refusing to be loved so another man’s life can be spared.” She purses her lips and shakes her head. “This is about  _ me _ preserving what is left of my sanity, hoping I would  _ never _ have to watch another man that I love die because of me.” Her expression contorts as she finally allows more tears to fall. “I don’t want anybody else gone, Clint. I can’t go through that anymore.” she whispers.

Clint takes a moment, allowing her to just cry and feel the emotions he knows she’s been repressing for days, and allowing her to breathe and take her time. He purses his lips and thinks, and after a few moments, he looks back up to find her already wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater, taking deep and shaky breaths in an attempt to calm herself down.

He knows she’s hurt, and he understands all of it. But he can’t let herself wallow in it. He can’t let herself forever drown in the hurt, even if they’re all delicate parts of her past.

“Nat,” Clint says softly, and Natasha meets his gaze as she sniffles and sighs shakily. “Look, I...I can’t say I understand what you’re feeling because I don’t. I  _ know _ what you’ve gone through, but it’s...it’s beyond me to understand, and you know that.” Natasha sniffles and gives him a small nod. “I do understand, however, how you’re scared of losing Steve again, like how you lost the others too. But Nat...he’s  _ alive, _ and he’s fine. He’s alive, and he’s kicking, and distancing yourself away from him just so you can preserve both  _ your _ life and his? It’s not gonna change even if you break up with him. And, honestly? I don’t think that’s the way to go.” He pauses, gauging her reactions as she just looks at him expectantly with wide and glassy eyes. “You hold on to the people who matter, especially those you’re afraid of losing. What’s a long life lived without the person you love compared to a life  _ with _ them, regardless if it’s cut short or not? I’m sure as hell the latter one’s better even with the uncertainty of time.”

Natasha shakes her head slightly. “I can’t lose him, Clint,” she whispers. “I can’t...I can’t watch him die.  _ I _ can’t watch him die. I can’t subject myself to that hurt again, to that…” she trails off and shakes her head.  _ It’s selfish, _ she thinks.  _ It’s selfish, and I hate it, but it’s true.  _ “I can’t, Clint. I know it...I know it sounds selfish, but I just...I  _ can’t. _ I can’t get through it. Not again.”

“Who said you’d have to go through it again?” he asks gently, and Natasha frowns at him, knowing  _ very _ well that what happened a week ago was a testament and an answer to his own question. “Nat, look, I...I promise you  _ this _ time, it won’t be like the rest.  _ He _ won’t be like the rest.” Clint tells her, figuring this is his  _ one _ last chance to convince his best friend to not let go of the  _ one _ love he has faith in, and he knows that  _ she _ has faith in, too, even after voluntarily breaking up with him. “Talk to him. Tell him you don’t want this thing of him being  _ your _ personal hero or something, get  _ mad _ at him for days and weeks for putting his life at risk and dying in front of you, but...don’t let go of the people who matter. Don’t let them go, not when you can still hold on to them.”

Natasha is very well-versed and familiar with missing the chances of being able to hold on to the people she loved. And so hearing Clint say that, telling her to hold on while she still  _ can, _ hits her hard and is enough to bring in a fresh wave of tears in her eyes, along with a fresher wave of pain and heartbreak of imagining how  _ close _ she was to almost never being able to hold on to Steve ever again, of losing him, like how she had lost Ivan, James and Nikolai.

She takes a shaky breath, and releases a long and slow one, running her fingers through her hair as she looks up to meet Clint’s gaze. “I just need time.” she whispers, biting her bottom lip in a vain attempt to hold the tears back. Clint gives her an understanding nod and a small smile.

“I know,” Clint tells her softly. “Take as long as you need.”  _ But not too long, _ Clint thinks, quirking his lips as he regards his best friend. He doesn’t have to say it. He knows she’s thinking it too. He knows she also wishes she wouldn’t have to wait  _ too _ long.

* * *

She finds him three days later in the gym early morning, hitting the bags hard and most likely noticing her enter the gym. She hesitates by the entrance, thinking whether or not she should walk over or just wait. It’s been ten days after all, and it’s not like they’ve spoken or much less  _ seen _ each other in those ten days.

It’s both fortunate and not, having a grace period of ten days where the rest of the team has had no missions to keep themselves busy for. Half of the team had been recovering from various injuries from their last mission, thus the idea that the grace period is a blessing. But then again, for people like her and Steve, who are both going through an intense and abrupt breakup, it’s unfortunate how they can’t redirect this heartbreak to anywhere else—

“You’re just gonna stand there?” he asks, snapping her away from her thoughts and looking up to find his back still facing her. He’s holding the bag in place, his head ducked as if looking down at his feet. She purses her lips, feeling a faint pang in her chest upon hearing his voice.

Ten days. How did she think she could last for  _ ten _ days?

He turns and faces her, their gazes meeting for the first time in  _ ten _ days. She swallows down her throat and takes a few steps closer towards him while he just watches, probably anticipating for her to say something or move even further, quite unsure himself on what to expect or what to do. He waits, and even after a few more moments of silence even as she pauses in her tracks a few feet away from him, he nods over at her. “You’re not here to train?” he asks, nodding over at her pyjamas that she’s still wearing.

She looks down at herself too, suddenly feeling stupidly self-conscious of what she’s wearing (which is stupid, really, considering this is Steve, and it’s not like she was trying to impress him or anything), and she lets out a huffed chuckle and a shake of her head. “No, no, I…” she trails off, and starts furrowing her brows as if contemplating. “I asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. where you were, since I’ve knocked on your door a few times and had no response. Told me you were here, so…” She shrugs. “Here I am.”

Steve nods slowly. “Here you are.” he says, and Natasha purses her lips and nods slowly again. “Why were you looking for me? All of a sudden?” he asks.

Natasha doesn’t respond. Not right away, at least, so they become silent for a few more moments, a tense atmosphere hanging above them. Natasha takes a deep breath and rubs her lips together, crossing her arms over her chest. She looks away for a moment and shakes her head. “I don’t….I don’t know, I…” she trails off, letting out a soft and huffed chuckle as she shakes her head again. “I don’t know. I just...wanted to see how you were doing.”

Which is  _ not _ entirely false at all. She had a whole agenda of why she’d come here, had a whole speech and a whole outline of the things she wanted to say or tell him, but the moment she stepped inside the room, everything had automatically vanished, especially since the moment she had laid her eyes on him. She wanted to turn back and run, wait for a few more days to recompose herself, but she also feels stuck at the same time. Like she couldn’t move, and like she  _ is _ where she is supposed to be.

So she supposes she’s just gonna have to say whatever it is she could say, whatever it is that’s in her heart.

“Well, I’m...doing fine, I guess,” Steve says softly, visibly deflating as he looks away from her, and looks down at his arms and body. “Wounds have healed, so...just trying to bounce back.”

Natasha nods, feeling her throat constricting as she swallows hard in an attempt to remove the block. “That’s good,” she says, attempting a small smile as he meets her gaze again. “That’s good, that’s...good to hear.”

Steve’s gaze falls, and he takes a shaky breath and shakes his head. “Nat—”

“I didn’t want you to jump in front of a bullet for me,” she blurts out, feeling her eyes filling with tears. Suddenly, she feels stupid, because what the  _ hell _ was she saying? And where the  _ hell _ was she going with this? “I didn’t...I didn’t like what you did.”

Steve frowns slightly, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “Saving your life?” he asks, and Natasha shakes her head.

“Trading your life for mine,” she says quietly, her bottom lip quivering as she shakes her head. “You _died_ in my place, Steve. It was supposed to be me.” Steve shakes his head.

“You know I can’t do that, Nat—”

“And you think  _ I _ can?” she asks, her voice raising slightly. “You think it was easy for  _ me _ to watch you dying right in front of me—”

“I did it because I  _ knew _ my body would take it, Nat,” Steve says, shaking his head, his tone pleading for her to understand but she continues to shake her head. “I knew I’d survive it and you won’t, and I had a bigger chance of surviving—”

“You  _ died, _ Steve!” Natasha exclaims, hot tears flowing down her eyes as she takes a shaky breath and immediately wipes away the tears flowing down her eyes. “I don’t care if it was just for five seconds or even longer, you still  _ died, _ because your body couldn’t take it. For a moment, you were gone, and I  _ lost _ you! There were plenty of other ways you could’ve saved me if you wanted to but you still chose to do  _ that, _ and it cost you your life, and it was gonna be on  _ me _ should you never wake up from that table.”

“It’s not on you—” Steve tries calmly but Natasha vehemently shakes her head.

“It  _ is _ on me, Steve! Your life for  _ mine,” _ she responds, pursing her lips to stabilize her trembling chin. “Even if you say otherwise, even if you say you were trying to protect me, it will  _ still _ be on me because I, too, had the responsibility of protecting  _ you,  _ and I failed  _ again.” _ Steve takes a moment of pause when his gaze softens, as if in understanding and empathy and he takes a step closer towards her. “And I can’t have you on that list, Steve.”

Steve shakes his head. “What list?” he asks.

“The list of people I loved who died because of me. You know it always happens, especially to me,” she says, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand as she sniffles and shakes her head. “I don’t want you there.”

_ Not where Ivan, Nikolai and James are. _

Steve shakes his head slowly. “Is that...is that why?” he asks, and she sniffles, still wiping away the flowing tears from her eyes. He sighs and takes another step towards her. “Nat, you could’ve just said. You could’ve just  _ asked.” _

Natasha shakes her head again. “It’s not like you listen to  _ these _ types of things, Steve,” she mumbles, and it  _ almost _ makes Steve huff out a chuckle. “You don’t listen whenever somebody tells you to  _ not _ jump in front of a bullet.”

“I’ll listen to  _ you,” _ he says, hesitating for a moment before he lifts a hand to wipe off the tears from her face, which only makes her cry  _ harder. _ “I only ever do listen to you.”

“Not with  _ this _ one. You never listen with  _ this _ particular one,” she mumbles, sniffling as Steve wipes away her tears with both hands. She lets out a shaky sigh as she meets his gaze once again. “I can’t lose you, Steve. I can’t lose you too. Not like how I lost them.” she whispers, and Steve nods, cupping her face with his hands, his thumbs gently brushing her rosy cheeks.

“But do you still want this?” he asks softly. “Do you...do you still want  _ this?” _

Natasha whimpers and nods, because  _ of course _ she does. She only ever did it as an emotional response to what he had done and what had happened, and in a vain attempt to protect the both of them for trading their lives for each other. But did she ever  _ stop _ wanting him? Wanting what they  _ already  _ had? No.

Steve lets out a sigh, giving her a small and gentle smile as he lifts a hand to run his fingers through her hair. “You could’ve just told me, Nat,” he tells her softly. “For a minute there, I thought…” he trails off and shakes his head. Natasha’s bottom lip quivers as she shakes her head and takes a step closer towards him, her hands grabbing the side of his shirt and twisting it in her hands, as if gripping to him tightly to assure herself he is there, and he is alive, and he is  _ alright. _ He isn’t dead like the rest, and he’s still here.

“I want you alive, Steve,” she whispers, shaking her head. “And if...if putting a distance between us would make sure you’ll be alive, then I’ll do it.”

Steve shakes his head again, running his fingers through her hair before he withdraws his hands back. “Then you shouldn’t…” he trails off, sighing as he shakes his head again, not continuing his thought. But even if he doesn’t continue, she already knows. She shouldn’t have broken up with him so hastily. She shouldn’t have broken up with him immediately, before they could even talk about it together. She should’ve just asked him and talked to him, done  _ anything _ at all besides breaking up with him.

But alas, she did. And here she is salvaging what she could, fixing what she could, after days of pondering and thinking.  _ Days. _ How could she let  _ ten _ days pass by?

Natasha watches as he pulls out a chain necklace from the back of his neck, her eyes catching the glint of metal catching the light, and only when he opens his palm in front of her did she see that it was his dog tags. His military dog tags. He takes her hands and lays the cold metal against her palms, enclosing it with his own.

“I can’t promise you it won’t happen again, Nat. You know me better than that. If it’s my life against yours, I’ll use mine to protect yours and that’s without question for me,” he tells her gently. She opens her mouth to protest, say something against what he said and contest it, but Steve purses his lips together and squeezes her hands gently as he shakes his head again. “But I  _ will _ promise you that I’ll do better in protecting mine. That’s my promise, and I’m giving you  _ this _ as a form of promise too.”

Natasha furrows her eyebrows together in confusion, looking down at their joined hands and his dog tags in them. “You promise me you’ll come home to me every time?” she asks, clutching the dog tags tight in her fist as she looks up at him with wide and glassy eyes. “You come home to me at the end of  _ every _ day you’re out on missions, Steve.”

Steve nods, giving her a soft and gentle smile as his hands lower down to her hips and she sighs, putting the dog tags closer to her chest as she tilts her head to rest her forehead against his. “I promise,” he tells her softly as Natasha lets out another soft whimper. Steve presses a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose, his hand squeezing her hip gently. “I promise.”

Natasha nods, pulling away slightly to look up and meet Steve’s gaze. “I’m sorry.” she says softly, and Steve nods, a small smile on his face as he leans down to press a kiss on her lips. It feels good, Natasha thinks. Kissing him and holding him and  _ him _ being here.

How she could think she could ever live life without him, despite both of them being alive? She’s not sure, and she’s glad she doesn’t have to find out ever again.


	61. The Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 61\. Steve hates the cold, and it’s how Steve and Natasha got closer together.
> 
> "The closest friend she has ever had is Clint, and even so, the last time they have had a sincere heartfelt conversation with each other had been ages ago, when both were too drunk and wasted to remember anything that happened and any sort of content of said conversation. All they know is that when they woke up, despite the hangover and headache, it renewed something in them and in their friendship.
> 
> Well, it’s not like she’s hoping for the same to happen between them, isn’t she?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO im back after so long! this is a light drabble that's been up in my docs for so long, so i decided to continue it and post it. i think this was a prompt from WAY before, have written drafts and other versions of this kind of story but i ended up with this one nonetheless, so i hope you guys like it!
> 
> also, yes, i'm back. :) i'm gonna try to post as regularly as i can, as i've been reopening all my fic docs and ideas are starting to flow once again in my head. i'm trying to revisit all the prompts that were left, but if you still have any, please go ahead and comment and i'll do my best to come up with ideas.
> 
> for now, enjoy!

She’s always been a light sleeper.

She thinks it comes with the fact that she’s a spy, that she’s  _ the _ Black Widow, and the light sleeper thing had come along with the package when she graduated from the Red Room. Every light footstep wakes her, every breath—no matter how soft or quiet it would be—sends tingles down her spine, reaching to the tip of her fingers until she finds herself slowly itching to reach for a weapon she would always have under her pillow. She sees even the slightest flicker or change of light, hears every creak of a door or window opening, feels every shift of the mattress—whether her own, or an adjacent one—all of it wakes her. All of it sends signals for her to wake and be alert, to automatically recognize it as a threat, as if summoning her to respond to it and make it stop, as if challenging her.

Because to her, if one is no threat, if one has no unclean intentions, why should somebody move so quietly and clandestinely in the most ungodly hour of the night?

Her fingertips graze the cold handle of her glock tucked under her pillow, her senses tingling, as if on their highest guard and highest alert, listening and trying to make sense of even the slightest change in the room. It’s cold inside the room, as to be expected in late November in Ufa, one of the largest cities in Russia, having just finished an undercover-turned-combat mission just hours before. She is sharing the small motel room with Steve Rogers—Captain America himself, who seems to be sound asleep just—

She pauses and squints, as she hears the slightest creak of the bed frame beside her. She hears the shuffling of the sheets, soft and quiet as if trying not to wake anybody else inside the room. She can hear soft and ragged breaths, and when she turns slightly in her bed to get a slight glimpse of the quiet commotion beside her, there she sees him, tossing and turning, wrapped in the thin sheets the motel could offer them, sweat glistening across his forehead, forming droplets in his golden hair, even in the cold.

She doesn’t need to be told twice of what’s happening. She doesn’t need to be educated about the signs. She knows a nightmare when she sees one. She’d witnessed and experienced it since she was a child.

She’s seeing one unfold right now in front of her eyes.

She lets go of the glock, and she pulls the sheets further up to her chest as she sits up and leans at the bed frame, eyes not leaving Captain America having a silent nightmare. They aren’t close, their relationship never passing beyond being coworkers. Even so, they aren’t really close enough for her to wake him in a nightmare that doesn’t seem all too severe. He isn’t thrashing. He isn’t violently tossing and turning. He isn’t even mumbling. His breaths are just short and ragged, and though he may be moving, the movements are minimal, not enough to wake a normal person inside the room.

But it’s enough to wake  _ her, _ that’s for sure.

And while she is in the middle of contemplating what she should do, torn between doing something and waiting for him to ease out, with sleep being completely removed from the equation now that her entire body is now fully alert and awake, he opens his eyes and lets out a slight gasp, as if finally breathing in air he was deprived of for the longest time. Perhaps it’s his nightmare, she thinks, something akin to not being able to breathe, and once he’d struggled out of that nightmare, he breathes in whatever air he thought he had missed. She wonders what it could be. She wonders if he would ever tell her.

Not that she’ll ever tell  _ him, _ if the roles were reversed.

“Did I wake you?” She snaps away from her thoughts and her gaze lands on him, meeting his glazy blue eyes looking up at her. She tilts her head slightly to the side as if observing him. “Did I wake you?” he asks again.

She shakes her head in response. “No, I was already awake,” she adds quietly. “You weren’t too loud to wake anyone up.”

He nods and lets out a sigh, and a cold wind rushes in, sending a shiver down her spine, even as the windows in their room are shut. It  _ is _ a cheap motel room, after all. One would think that S.H.I.E.L.D. would do better in scouting for more luxurious accommodations, especially in a city as large as Ufa, but they were in an undercover mission after all, and to seek accommodation from grand and large hotels would risk to compromise their covers or  _ worse, _ risk the lives of more people in the same building as them. It wasn’t like they minded, though, and it’s not like either of them had a choice in it either. Natasha is personally comfortable in it despite its lack of heater and sturdy windows. She grew up in Russia, and has the Red Room serum flowing through her veins, enabling her to adapt to whatever environment she finds herself in. No amount of cold could ever bother her.

It bothers, apparently, her companion on the bed beside hers.

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes slowly shutting as the cold wind rushes past him. She furrows her eyes in confusion. “Do you need extra blankets?” she asks, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. She doesn’t mean for it to sound demeaning, more so she finds it actually  _ confusing. _ Didn’t being Captain America mean he should be more invincible to the cold than her?

He shakes his head, sitting up and leaning his back on the bed frame, mimicking her position as he pulls the sheets up below his chin. “It’s...it’s not the cold, it’s…” he trails off, and he shakes his head again as he sighs. “I mean I...I’m...I’m  _ not _ cold, I  _ can’t _ be cold. I  _ shouldn’t _ be cold—”

“And yet you are,” Natasha points out, and Steve sighs. Natasha quirks her mouth to the side and sighs, beginning to remove the draped blanket over her body. “Take mine for the meantime. I could just go down to request some—”

“No, Natasha,” Steve says, shaking his head, and Natasha meets his gaze as she continues to gather the blanket. Steve lets out a sigh as he shakes his head, gaze training back to his knees pulled closer to his chest. He looks small in that position despite his real stature when he stands. “I’m not cold, it’s...the  _ cold _ gave me nightmares.”

Natasha pauses at that, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly yet enough for him to notice it, apparently, because he continues. “It’s...it’s a thing. When it’s cold...or at least as cold as  _ this, _ I get nightmares,” he explains quietly, voice barely above a whisper yet with the size of the room and them being the only two occupants of the room, it’s definitely more than enough for her to hear him. “Like I’m...like back in the ice.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _

She doesn’t really know what to say to that,  _ how _ to respond to that, how to respond to a teammate suddenly opening himself up to her even though they’re not at all that close. She isn’t much used to it, either. The closest friend she has ever had is Clint, and even so, the last time they have had a sincere heartfelt conversation with each other had been  _ ages _ ago, when both were too drunk and wasted to remember anything that happened and any sort of content of said conversation. All they know is that when they woke up, despite the hangover and headache, it renewed something in them and in their friendship.

Well, it’s not like she’s hoping for the same to happen between them, isn’t she?

“How did it feel?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper as well, as if she’s afraid to ask the question herself, fearing it will unlock more stories that he might not be ready to tell. They might not be close, but she has a level of respect for the Captain, and she fears he might mistake her question for a lack of respect and boundary.

Instead, he doesn’t, and he surprises her by letting out a quiet chuckle. “Cold,” he responds, voice quiet, she swears the rushing wind is louder than his hushed response. “Just cold. I was back in the water, all of a sudden I was wrapped in ice, couldn’t move, nothing to hold on to. I couldn’t open my eyes either, and it was dark, and I couldn’t breathe, and...I was alone.”

She purses her lips together, pulling her sheets back to cover her body as he turns his head and meets her gaze. His eyes are wide and glazy, yet she can see, even in the dim light provided by the moon, how tired he must be from the nightmare triggered by the cold. It isn’t much, sure, but a nightmare is a nightmare, especially those concerning the things from your past you would rather not revisit even in dreams.

Steve sighs and shakes his head again. “It usually doesn’t...it doesn’t work like this in the Tower. Haven’t really had this in a long time. Getting the nightmare from the cold. Cold’s different in Russia...I guess,” he says, and she lets out a hum of acknowledgment. “You’re not cold?”

Natasha tilts her head upwards slightly, corner of her mouth twitching up to a small smirk. “I’m used to the cold,” she says quietly. “Grew up in Russia, remember?”

“Right, right,” Steve responds almost awkwardly, letting out a quiet chuckle as he sighs and nods. “You’re probably...you don’t get the cold nightmares, do you?”

Natasha swallows a lump in her throat as she lets out a quiet chuckle. “Believe it or not, I still sometimes do,” she confesses quietly, probably surprising Steve as his eyebrows furrow slightly, corners of his mouth quirking down into a slight frown. “Russia wasn’t exactly the perfect home back when I was a kid. The cold brings it back sometimes.”

It was  _ never _ a home, she thinks, at least not the home everybody defines. It’s not home compared to the Tower, at least. But she’s not going to confess that to him now, is she?

Both are quiet for a moment, each second weighing heavy with tension and anticipation, until Steve asks, “D’you ever get used to it? The cold, and the nightmares it brings with it?” She lets out a small smile and shrugs.

“Some nights are easier than others,” she says, and she shakes her head. “But most of the time it’s…” she trails off and shakes her head, lifting a shoulder to shrug as she exhales. “You just gotta push through it every single time, I guess. No matter how long it takes, you have to.”

_ And there’s no way to do it but to do it alone. _

But how do you do it?

Steve gives a slight nod and purses his lips, moving to lie back down on his bed again. Natasha sighs, for a split moment second-thinking before she blurts out. “If you want...if  _ you _ want,” she starts, and Steve looks back at her and meets her gaze. “We can push the beds together, sleep close to each other. It helps with the warmth...body heat and all that.” she says almost dismissively with a shrug, yet her voice is quiet and steady, eyes imploring and wary of what he might say or how he might react. “It might help with the nightmares.”

So both of them would have something to hold on to. So both of them could move, open their eyes and breathe. So both of them wouldn’t feel alone in their own nightmares.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, probably weighing the decision given to him with the way his eyebrows furrow and his gaze fall on the white sheets covering his body. He seems to consider it, but there’s as if something that’s holding him back. “Would  _ you _ be okay with it?” he asks quietly, and Natasha narrows her eyes in confusion.

_Right,_ she realizes. _Chivalry, and all that._ _Borders, professionalism, and all that._

Natasha lets out a chuckle and nods. “I swear. No funny business, Rogers.” she teases, eliciting a furious blush on his cheeks, his eyes widening as she lets out a quiet laugh and begins to stand to move her bed while he does the same.

They didn’t say good night to each other, much like how they didn’t just hours before when they crashed to their respective beds. They’re not  _ that _ close yet. Ironically enough, both of them think that something in their small conversation must have made them already close enough to at least sleep beside each other, to at least hold on to each other when the nightmares would come in waves, to be a sight to look at when they open their eyes so they wouldn’t see darkness, so they would be able to breathe properly.

So at least, for that night, they wouldn’t be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompts and kudos super appreciated!


End file.
